dreamtofus

[dreamtofus]

Uranus

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avengers!Reader

Synopsis: you fix Peters science project while he’s out on a date with another girl

Masterlist

You walked by Peter’s room and paused in the doorway. The empty bedroom reminded you of where he was tonight and it send a sick feeling down to your stomach. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air as you looked at all the discarded outfits he had left on his bed.

“I’m not cleaning his stupid room.” You decided and walked away. You were barely halfway down the hallway when you turned and sprinted back to his room to start to put things away. You knew it wasn’t your job to take care of him but you simply couldn’t stop yourself from tidying up. You assumed he’d be getting back late from where he was and probably wouldn’t want to clean up all his clothes just to get into his bed. As you folded a pair of his jeans, you looked up into his vanity mirror and sighed.

“You’re so pathetic.” You told yourself through a groan.

“Stop talking to yourself.” Your reflection replied and pointed at you with a scathing finger. You jumped and looked down to see your finger was pointed as well.

“Right.” You mumbled and left his room.

You then went into the living room and saw Peter’s science project sitting on the couch. He had been building a model of the solar system for weeks now for his astronomy class with a little help from you here and there. All you did was hold pieces together after he glued them but he still insisted that he could not have done it without you. You smiled at the memory of the two of you working on it together and picked it up.

“Why would he leave it where someone could sit on it?” You sighed and moved it to the bar counter in the kitchen. You left the living room to use the bathroom just as Thor was entering the room. He stepped onto a bar stool with ease and took a seat on the counter to eat the apple he had taken from a lunchbox labeled “Sam’s: do not touch”. He munched his apple for a moment before feeling something digging into his back. He sat up a little and pulled a small ball out from under him that was painted to look like Mercury.

“Hm. Thats strange. I don’t remember putting that up there.” Thor frowned as he rolled the planet between his fingers. You walked back into the living room and smiled at Thor until you saw what he was holding. Your heart stopped at the same time your feet did and you let out a dramatic gasp that sent you into a coughing fit.

“Thor!” You exclaimed. “You just destroyed Peter’s science project!”

“These tiny colorful balls were his science project? What was it on? Tiny colorful balls?” Thor asked as he stood up to look at the science project he had completed crushed.

“No. It was a model of the solar system. And you just crushed it. How did you not feel that when you sat down?” You whined as more parts of the project fell from Thors jeans and back into the counter.

“Lady Y/n, you must be mistaken. I’ve seen the solar system with my own eyes. And then I had my eye cut out. And then I had my eye replaced and saw the solar system again. Peters little balls looked nothing like it.” Thor told you, making you roll your eyes up to the ceiling and stamp your feet like a little kid.

“I don’t care about your optic history.” You groaned. “Peter’s been working on it for weeks and your giant butt just crushed it in seconds.”

“Thank you. I eat a lot of yams to get these yams.” Thor smiled at the presumed compliment and patted his thigh. You watched him for a moment before letting out a deep sigh.

“Okay.” You was all you could stay in your effort to remain calm.

“I don’t see what all the petulance is about. If he formed one solar system out of tiny colorful balls, surely he can do it again. All the pieces are right here.” Thor pointed out.

“Yes, but that doesn’t erase the fact that you ruined the project he spent weeks working on. He’s gonna be devastated when he sees this. And who taught you the word “petulance”? Have you been watching The Twilight Zone again? I don’t know why you do that. It always scares you.”

“Never you mind.” He wagged a finger. “I do feel bad for the boy. I’ll collect the tiny balls since it was my behind that crushed them and then Peter can glue them back together.”

“He can’t. It’s due tomorrow and right now he’s on…I don’t know. He’s just busy and he can’t fix it tonight.” You sighed and started to collect the scattered pieces of the project.

“Busy doing what? You’re here and his small balls were finished. What else could the boy be doing?” Thor wondered. You paused for a moment and felt that sick feeling in your stomach again.

“He’s on a date.” You said for the first time out loud since Peter told you his plans for the evening. You’d been quietly stewing all day over it and letting it settle in a massive dark cloud over your head.

“Well I’m sure the man he’s with will be understanding that he has to come home to fix his balls.” Thor told you.

“Stop saying balls!” You scolded. “And the date is with a girl, for your information. A very pretty girl from our business class who smells like a vanilla and my broken dreams.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Lady Y/n. I never knew why but I know that small boy means a lot to you.” Thor said sympathetically and put his hand on your shoulder. You gave him a sympathetic smile and patted his hand.

“Seems like a lot of things are broken tonight.” Thor continued. “Your dreams, Peters balls-“

“Say balls one more time.” You said through clenched teeth.

“Or what? You’ll stab me?” Thor challenged you.

“What? No. Jesus Christ. Who hurt you?” You mumbled and pushed his hand off your shoulder.

“My brother. And then he hurt me again. And then my sister hurt me. And then my brother once more before he died before my eyes. Enough about me, why are your dreams broken?”

“It’s complicated.” You sighed. “Can I tell you something personal?”.

“No.” Thor replied and left the room without another word. You shrugged in defeat and wondered why you even bothered.

“Well that was a fine howdy do.” You mumbled and finished collecting the pieces. You laid out all the broken bits of Peter’s project on the kitchen counter and folded your arms. It would be a lot of work for Peter and you had no idea what hour he’d be getting back. As much as you hated the idea of him being on a date, you more so hated the thought of him coming home happy and his smile falling when he saw what had become of all his hard work.

“I need to fix these balls.” You whispered to yourself. You grabbed Saturn and one it’s broken rings and started to see how you could glue them back together.

“No. I can’t do this.” You said out loud. “I can’t fix every little thing in Peter’s life just to make him happy. I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not the one he asked on a date. I’m just a friend.”

You put the pieces down and folded your arms to keep your hands off it. You knew you should walk away, but you couldn’t stop thinking about all the nights you walked past his room and saw him working on the project. He’d put so much effort into it and now it was in pieces on the counter.

“A girlfriend would spend the next few hours working on a project that has no impact on me just to save Peter the trouble. A good friend would feel bad that his work got destroyed and offer condolences when he got home. And I’m a good friend. Not a girlfriend. It’s not my problem. So I’m walking away.” You decided and left the room. You lasted all of three minutes before you ran back into the room with a tube of crazy glue.

“I gotta fix the balls.” You exclaimed and plopped yourself down at the table. Once you organized all the planets and parts of the solar system, you went to Peter’s room to get the sketched out drawing he had made of the project to use as a blueprint. You silently thanked Peter for being so meticulous and followed his sketch to rebuild his project.

Time went by slowly but your hands cramped up quickly as you worked on the model. It was around the time you glued on Saturns 30th moon, you understood why it took Peter so long to complete the project. All the moons and planets looked the same to you so you had to carefully study his drawings and rely on your memory of when you helped him with the project to guide you as you worked. You had to stop every so often to rub your eyes and roll out your wrists to keep them from getting stiff.

You drifted off into sleep at some point when staring at Jupiters moons became a little too mind numbingly boring. Peter got back from his date about midnight and strolled past you on his way to his room. He backtracked when he realized you were asleep at the table and frowned. His completed science project was beside you, save for one missing moon next to Jupiter. His eyebrows knit together in confusion over the sight so he gently shook you awake.

“Hey. You awake?” He asked in a soft tone as he shook your shoulders. You shot up immediately and nearly knocked your head into his.

“I’m not snoring.” You blurted as you pulled the hair that was stuck to your cheek away.

“I know.” He chuckled. “What are you doing here? Why is Ganymede stuck to your face?”

“Why is what?” You asked through a yawn. Peter smiled and pulled the missing moon off your cheek and held it out to show you.

“Ganymede. The largest moon in the solar system.” He told you and put it in its correct spot on the model.

“There is no way you saw a random gray ball stuck to my face and correctly identified it as Gammy meme.” You insisted.

“Ganymede.” He corrected. “And I only know because I labeled them. See?”

Peter pulled the moon back off to show you a tiny G written on the bottom with the word “Jupiter” in parentheses beside it.

“They’re labeled?” You nearly shouted. “Well that would’ve been helpful four hours ago.”

“Four hours? That’s how long you’ve been here? What happened?” Peter frowned and took a seat beside you. You gave him a sheepish smile and looked at the model.

“I’m sorry, Peter. Thor sat on your project by accident.” You admitted. “I’ve been putting it back together ever since. I think I got most of it the way you had it but I never found Pluto. I honestly think it went up his ass and he just didn’t realize.”

“You spent four hours fixing my project?” He asked with a surprised smile.

“Of course I did. I know how hard you worked on this. I didn’t want you to have to start all over.” You told him. He gave you a fond smile and placed his hand on top of yours. Your eyes flicked to your hands and you gulped but said nothing.

“I really appreciate this but you really didn’t have to do this. You should have called me. I could’ve come home and fixed it myself.”

“But I knew you were really excited about tonight. I didn’t want to interrupt your date.” You said without looking at him.

“Well that was very selfless of you. And I hate to tell you this after all the work you did, but the date was bad. I would’ve loved an excuse to leave.” He admitted, making you smile involuntarily.

“It was bad?” You asked and quickly cleared your throat to cover up your smile.

“Woah. Don’t sound too happy.” He snorted.

“What?” You asked in a high pitched voice. “I’m not. Why would that make me happy? But please elaborate anyway.”

“It was bad.” He grimaced. “Like, season 6 of Glee level bad.”

“That bad?” You gasped. “So many forgettable characters. So many odd couple choices.”

“They sang Let it Go. They worked Let it Go from Frozen into the plot and made them sing it.” Peter shook his head.

“That was not the worst for me. The worst was when Mr. Shue rapped Same Love. They let the straight adult rap a song about being gay when the entire cast of queer young people were right there. And wasn’t there a child in the club for some reason? And twins who were lowkey dating?”

“Yep. All of that. And yet, my date was still worse.” He shrugged. You looked down at your lap and smiled a little before quickly dropping it.

“It was that bad, huh?” You asked and tried not to sound too interested.

“So bad.” He sighed. “She was a great girl, don’t get me wrong. We just had no connection whatsoever. She didn’t laugh at any of my jokes and then there were a few times where I thought she was joking so I laughed but she didn’t and then we sat in awkward silence.”

“That’s the worst. I hate awkward silence. I once pretended to forgot the word for “seatbelt” just to keep a conversation going with an uber driver. I kept calling it a strap on.”

“Wait, is that not what a strap on is?” Peter played dumb. “Should we Google it to make sure?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes. “Keep going. I want to hear more about this awful date with the girl you’ll never see again.”

“There was just no spark. We realized pretty quickly that we didn’t have anything in common. At one point, she asked me if Star Wars was the “movie with the things you can’t feed after midnight”. So I don’t foresee a second date.”

“Wow. She had to have a serious lack of knowledge about two major huge pop culture movies to ask that question.”

“I know. I told her yes and she believed me.” Peter replied, making you laugh. He laughed as well over how ridiculous the whole night had been before stopping to look at you. When your laughter died down and you realized he was staring at you, you smiled shyly and looked over at the project to avoid eye contact.

“Well, I’m sorry it didn’t go well.” You told him. “Maybe the next girl will understand you more.”

“Yeah. I hope so.” He said in a soft voice and never stopped looking at you.

“You’ll have better luck next time. To be honest, I thought the date was doomed as soon as you told me you were going for sushi. You hate raw fish.”

“Because I’m not a seagull.”

“Because you’re not a seagull, yeah.” You laughed. “I think of that every time I eat sushi. I’m no better than those damn seagulls.”

“Don’t say that. You’re way better. A seagull would not have done all this for me.” Peter insisted and gestured to the project. You looked over at the solar system you had given too many hours of your life too and smiled as you realized something.

“I had to fix it. I didn’t want you to be stressed.”

“But didn’t this stress you out? Designing this thing gave me gray hair and premature menopause.” Peter replied, making you laugh softly.

“A little.” You admitted. “But I felt better when I remembered why I was doing it.”

“Why were you doing it?”

“Because I’d do anything for you, Peter.” You said simply. You watched his ears turn pink and he turned his head so that you wouldn’t see his smile.

“I’d do anything for you too, you know.” He said in a quiet voice.

“Careful.” You warned him. “You already owe me big time for fixing this unnecessarily detailed solar system. If you tell me you’d do anything for me, you’re really at my mercy.”

“Uh oh. Sounds dangerous.” He laughed softly. You shared another moment of eye contact and smiled softly at each other.

“It’s late. We should probably get to bed.” You suggested.

“You’re right. Thank you again for this.” Peter said and picked up the project. You didn’t know if you were sleep deprived or delirious from working on the project all night but you felt compelled to share every secret you had with Peter.

“Honestly, Peter, I was happy to do this stupid science project because it kept me from thinking about you on your date.” You told him as you got up and rubbed your tired eyes.

“Really? Why didn’t you want to think about that?”

“Because whenever I did think about you on your date, I wanted to throw up.” You admitted. “And then rip out my hair. And then eat my hair and throw it back up. And then kill my self or something.”

“Well,” Peter said slowly, “I see your urge to rip your hair out and raise you the fact that I only said yes to this date because she wears the same perfume as you. And I needed a night off from staring at the ceiling and thinking about what would happen if I just told you how I felt.”

You stopped mid yawn and gave him a confused look. His eyes were darting everywhere except for your eyes and you could see the rosy glow on his cheeks even in the dim light of the kitchen.

“Oh? And how do you feel?” You wondered and crossed your arms. Peter gulped before sitting up straight in his chair.

“I don’t know. Why did me being on a date make you so upset?” He challenged you. You narrowed your eyes at him and he looked nervous but didn’t back down.

“I asked you first.” You shrugged.

“Well I asked you second.” He replied. “And as Aristotle or whoever once said, first is the worst. Second is the best. Third is the one with the hairy chest.”

“Ew, what?” You grimaced. “It’s treasure chest. Third is the one with the treasure chest.”

“That makes no sense. Why would a person in third place, the very last place, be rewarded with a treasure chest? They’re the loser so they get a hairy chest. Now that’s sensical.”

“No it’s not.” You scoffed. “It makes even less sense. If I come in third place, does that mean my chest will grow hair? Or does it mean I will be given a torso with a hairy chest? Or, hear me out, does it imply that my chest is already hairy. And that’s why I came in third.”

“You did what in third?” Peter mumbled.

“Shut up. Can we get back to what we were talking about?”

“You’re right. We should go to sleep.” Peter said and tried to walk past you. You placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place and he gulped.

“Hold up.” You told him. “I’m cashing in that favor you owe me right now. We gotta talk. Sit back down.”

“I’m sat.” Peter said quietly and sat back down in his seat. You pulled your chair up to be across from him and sat down as well.

“I’m going to ask you again and I don’t want to hear another single reference to chests or placement.” You prefaced. “How do you feel?”

Peter scratched the back of his head to spare some time because he knew he was caught. He suddenly got a shy smile on his face suddenly and looked over at his project.

“Can I show you something?” He asked you as he pulled the sun off the center of the project.

“Dude.” You sighed. “I just glued that.”

“I know. And I’ll fix it. But look.” He said and turned the sun over. You looked at him in confusion and leaned forward to see what he was talking about. On the bottom of the sun in Peter’s hand writing were your first and last initials.

“My initials? Why? You smiled in surprise and looked up at him.

“Because the solar system revolves around the sun.” He explained. “But my solar system revolves around you.”

You stayed quiet as he put the sun back on the model and took your hand. A look of skepticism stayed on your face as he looked into your eyes.

“I know I do a good job of hiding it. But there is a piece of you in everything I do.” He said. “There always has been. This was just one of my more obvious ones.”

“Wow.” You said after a beat. “I really should’ve looked at the bottom of these.”

“Yeah. You should’ve.” He laughed and leaned in a little.

“Yeah. I should’ve.” You cracked a smile and leaned in as well. You stared into big brown eyes for a second and decided this was the last night you and Peter were just friends.

“Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Is it about the solar system?”

“No.” You rolled your eyes. “Did you kiss her tonight?”

“I don’t know. Ask me that question again one minute from now.” Peter said as he closed the gap between you and kissed you. You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer since you’d been waiting for this for a while. And it was everything you imagined it would be. When the kiss started to heat up, Peter slipped an arm around you and picked you up with ease. He hastily placed you down on the counter and you jumped apart when you heard a crunching sound.

You pulled out of the kiss and looked down to see that Peter had placed you directly on top of the science project that you had just spent hours fixing. You both stared at the scattered pieces in stunned silence for a moment before he gave you a sheepish smile. You didn’t smile back and instead stared daggers at him while trying to explode his head using your mind.

“I can fix it?” He said through a nervous laugh. You held your hands up in defeat and hopped off the counter without a word.

“What? That’s how this night ends? Come on.” Peter whined and followed you as you left the room and continued your silent treatment towards him.

“You’re seriously going to walk away after that? We had something going there. Don’t go now.” He whined some more and trotted after you like a puppy.

“Go get something going with the planets I spent the last four hours glueing back together.” You grumbled and held up your middle finger for him to see as he trailed after you.

“Come on.” He half laughed, half groaned. “You can’t send me to bed after a kiss like that. We need to at least talk about it. Let’s go back and…” Peter trailed off when you passed his bedroom and he caught a glimpse of his clean floor.

“Wait, did you clean my room too?” He asked, knowing he had left it a mess before he left for the date. You froze in your tracks for a moment but decided to keep the upper hand instead of admitting to Peter that you were so down bad that you had in fact cleaned his room.

“I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers, Peter. Goodnight.” You said and slammed your door in his face. He barely had time to react before you opened your door back up and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

“Get your ass in here, loser.”

“Don’t you mean get your anus in here? Because it sounds like Uranus?” He said with a proud smile. You stared him dead in the eyes and didn’t crack even a hint of smile.

“Do you want to come in here or not?”

“I already unzipped my pants, yeah.” He admitted as he dashed through your bedroom door.

Tag List 🏷️

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[dreamtofus]

You Were My Sunshine

Summary: Once a year you disappear for a whole day. Nobody knows where you go or what you do, but the team has learned to let you have your privacy. This year though, Bucky's curiosity gets the better of him and he follows you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death. Grief. Some angst. Fluff. No mentions of Y/N.

Word Count: 3K

A/N: I realize this is a little heavy and you absolutely don't need to read it. This one's mostly for me, but I thought why not post it and let Bucky comfort other people, if you need it. As always, my inbox is always open if you want to even just chat. I hope someone likes this. Also, I promise the requests are coming, a little slowly but they're coming. I'm on vacation for two weeks so I'll spend the time writing, probably.

Masterlist

“Have a good day.” Steve calls after you as you pass the kitchen.

You stop in front of the door to smile at Steve and wave at the team as they all have breakfast together before you keep making your way to the elevator that will take you to the parking garage.

“So, we’re really just accepting this?” Bucky asks the team when the elevators close behind you and he’s sure you can’t hear him.

“Yes, Buck.” Steve says firmly.

“But-” Bucky’s protests are cut off by Tony.

“She’s entitled to her privacy.” He says firmly. “Just let it go, Frosty.”

Bucky ignores the nickname and looks around the team, searching for anyone that might have his back, but nobody else seems to be too invested in your day. Bucky gets up with a huff and makes his way to the training room, resigned that he has to let you be.

You’ve always been an open person, you’re always there for everybody that needs you and you’re not afraid to talk about anything with anybody.

Your life is an open book.

Which is precisely why it drives Bucky crazy that, once a year, you disappear for an entire day and nobody knows where you go or what you do.

You disable all your communication devices, the tracking in your car and you don’t use credit cards anywhere. 

It’s like you cease to exist for a day, leaving no trace that you were anywhere.

At least that’s how the team sees it. 

They’ve all tried to figure out where you go, but that’s the only subject that you never talk about and, every time anyone asks you about it, your answer is always the same:

Don’t worry about it.

After so many years, the whole team has decided to listen to you and stopped worrying about it. 

Everyone except Bucky.

It’s not like you’re that close with him, but he considers you his friend and he trusts you, so it irks him that you have this huge secret that nobody knows anything about.

Needless to say, he worries about it a lot.

That’s why right now he finds himself tip toeing down to the garage. He sees you get into your car and drive away and, without even thinking about it, he jumps on his bike and follows you.

He knows this is wrong, he knows he shouldn’t follow you, that you’re allowed to have your secrets. But he can’t help himself when it comes to you. You make him lose control, you make him go insane. 

He just needs you. to know.

So he follows you, as discreetly as only a trained assassin knows how. He follows you into the city and stops a few cars away when you park in front of a secondhand bookstore. Bucky knows that shop all too well, it’s one of his favorite places to visit when he’s in the city.

He waits until you disappear behind a shelf before going in, watching you as you browse the books. It looks to Bucky like you’re looking for a particular book, when you find it, he can see your face lighting up.

You turn the book to look at the back cover and Bucky can read the title very clearly. ‘Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince’, one of your favorite books. Bucky knows that because he’s talked about it with you for hours, along with all the other books of the series and the Lord of the Rings books, Bucky’s favorites.

You chat amicably with the older guy that owns the shop while you pay for your book and then leave, getting back into your car with Bucky still on your tail.

Next you go to a small bakery and buy a coffee and a cupcake. Thankfully for Bucky you’re too distracted by talking with the nice, old lady that owns the place to notice him buying his own coffee.

He follows you again as you cross the street to the park in front of the bakery and walk until you find a secluded spot. You sit down against a tree and continue peacefully reading your book under the summer sun while sipping your iced coffee.

Bucky sits on a bench nearby where he has a visual on you, but you can’t really see him unless you were really looking for him. But you’re so engrossed in reading that Bucky’s sure he could sit next to you and you wouldn’t even realize it.

He knows you get like that when you’re reading something that captures your attention, and the Harry Potter books always do, no matter how many times you’ve read them already.

Bucky always thought you looked so cute while reading. You make no attempt to hide your reactions and it amuses him. So he spends the next few hours just watching you read, watching your beautiful face shining in the sunlight as you frown and snort and laugh and pout as your eyes dart around the pages.

It’s actually relaxing, he thinks to himself. Is this what you do every year? Take a whole day just to read without the chaos of the Compound and nobody to bother you?

But why would you be so secretive about this? Reading for hours with a cup of coffee is something you’d done countless times in your room, on the roof, in the backyard of the Compound or even in the common room, never really bothered by the noise the team makes when you’re so into the words you’re reading.

So why do it in secret?

After a few hours, around lunch time, you finally come out of the book’s trance and gather your things before getting up.

Bucky frowns when you don’t get back into your car and follows you as you walk to a small family owned Italian restaurant that Bucky’s never been to but always wanted to try. He discreetly follows you in and takes a table in the back where you can’t see him.

He watches you interact with the owner, the waiter and even the cook comes out to talk to you. It’s clear that they all know you and it seems to Bucky like you’re pretty close to them even though he’s never even heard you mention this place before. When you’re done eating, Bucky sees you playfully fight with the owner that doesn’t want to let you pay so you leave a generous tip that amounts to more than your check is and the owner chuckles to himself when you wink as you walk out.

After lunch, which Bucky has to admit was pretty good, he follows you to a flower shop a couple of doors down and he’s surprised to see the owner greeting you like old friends. It looks like she was already anticipating your arrival, a bouquet of blue roses already on the counter and ready to go when you arrive. You chat with the older woman for a few minutes before paying and leaving the flower shop to go to your car.

It’s clear to Bucky by now that you obviously have a routine on your secret day, and everyone you see on this day knows it.

So why don’t the Avengers? 

You looked so comfortable with all the people you’ve met today, Bucky can’t help but think that maybe you don’t feel like you belong on the team.

You drive until you arrive at your destination and Bucky is both surprised and confused when you park in the parking lot of a cemetery, get out of your car and enter it.

He subtly follows you in, watching you walk past a few graves and it looks to him like you know your way around by how effortlessly you walk without needing to check the names, stopping at one almost at the end of the row you were in while Bucky keeps his distance, always making sure to stay out of sight.

He sees you take a deep breath before kneeling in front of the grave and putting down the bouquet of flowers in front of it.

“Hi, mom…” You wipe the dirt off the tombstone and tidy the flowers in front of it with what Bucky’s sure it’s a forced smile. “Happy birthday.”

You take out the cupcake you bought that Bucky now realizes you hadn’t eaten yet and he sees you put a small red birthday candle on it and light it, then you just look at it for a few seconds before you sigh and blow it out.

“So…” You say quietly, looking back at the tombstone and Bucky can see a tear falling down your cheek.

A piece of Bucky's heart breaks seeing you so vulnerable and hurting like this, but he stays put no matter how much he wants to be at your side right now.

Bucky stands there in complete silence, hearing everything you say, hanging on to every word. He hears you talk about everything that happened in the past year, he listens to you talk about missions and parties and holidays. He hears you talk about the whole team and his heart flutters a little when you mention his name too.

You talk for a while and, after he assumes you run out of new things to say, he sees you taking out the book you just bought today.

“So, this year we finally got to the half-blood prince.” You say with a small smile. “It’s our favorite, hadn’t read it in a while.”

Bucky sees you open it and go to the page you left the bookmark in.

“It took me longer than I thought to find your favorite quote, I have to admit.” You say with a small chuckle. “It’s like 400 pages in, don’t judge me.” 

Bucky chuckles quietly at your playfulness, even in this situation. He can’t help but find you adorable.

“It is the unknown we fear when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more.” You read the quote before closing the book and looking back at the grave. “That’s what you told me when I was scared of the dark…” You say quietly with a smile.

“And that’s what you told me before you…” You trail off, not being able to finish your sentence as tears start streaming down your cheeks but Bucky has a pretty good idea where you were going.

That's what she told you before she died, so you wouldn't be scared.

He’s more than surprised that he didn’t know your mother died, and he’s pretty sure the rest of the team doesn’t know either.

Admittedly, families are a very touchy subject for the Avengers.

But Bucky’s even more surprised to see you breaking down, something you’ve never done before. You’re cheery, you’re bubbly, you’re everyone’s little ray of sunshine.

And it breaks Bucky’s heart to know you’ve been falling apart when you’re by yourself all these years.

“I’m sorry I only come here once a year, I just…” You start, so quietly that Bucky’s glad he has enhanced hearing otherwise he's sure he wouldn't be able to hear you. “I miss you so much and I can’t… I can’t bear this.”

He sees you running your fingers gently over the tombstone as you take a deep, shaky breath, but you can’t stop crying.

“I’m trying to be the person you loved…” You say after a moment of silence. “Your little ray of sunshine.” You chuckle softly through the tears.

It makes sense to Bucky now why you always try to be there for everyone else. It’s how you’ve always been, apparently. Always making sure no one feels alone because deep down you feel the most alone, and you don’t want anyone else to feel that way.

You are my sunshine

Bucky’s thoughts get interrupted when he hears you quietly starting to sing. 

My only sunshine

Bucky knows this song. It’s a lullaby that he’s heard you sing once before.

Clint’s family visited him at the Compound and you offered to watch his kids so he and his wife could have a date night.

You probably didn’t realize he heard you, you probably thought you were alone and it’s not like he was spying on you. He just happened to pass by when you were in Clint’s room, trying to get the three kids to sleep by singing to them.

You make me happy, when skies are gray 

You take a breath before continuing but your voice wavers a little. 

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you

Bucky can see you’re having trouble getting the words out, your voice almost breaking.

Please don’t take… My sunshine… Away

Before you can even get the last word out, you break down completely, burying your face in your hands while sobbing.

Bucky feels his heart break as he takes in your pain. He wishes there was some clear and simple solution to making this all better for you, but there's always been so much he doesn't understand about complex emotions like these. 

Right now, as he's watching how broken you are, though, he knows that he doesn't even care about understanding. He just wants to comfort you, to try and make it better...

Bucky comes to rest beside you, he kneels down to your level and places his hand gently on your shoulder. “Hey…” He says quietly.

His presence startles you and you go into defense mode, taking his hand on your shoulder and bending it, then using your grip on his arm to push him face down on the ground.

Bucky didn’t expect you to react so quickly and aggressively which makes it easier for you to catch him off-guard and pin him down.

“Goddammit, Bucky!” You say after you finally recognize him and let him go, getting up and scrambling back to put some distance between you and him while breathing heavily.

For a moment, Bucky is a little stunned. It's rare that anyone is able to get the jump on him like that. But then he snaps back to reality. He lets you make your distance while getting back to his feet and stands a few feet away from you.

“Did you fucking follow me?!” Your sadness is quickly forgotten and replaced with anger.

“I…” Bucky doesn’t know what to say. He knows he’s in the wrong here and he has no defense for himself when he knowingly violated your privacy. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?!” You snap at him. “You didn’t understand what the meaning of privacy is?!”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, he’s never seen you this angry at anyone that’s not an enemy and surely never at him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He says quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just curious, I didn’t think this would be it, I thought…”

“You thought what?” You say when he trails off, clearly pissed as you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“I thought maybe you were a supervillain…” He jokes weakly, trying to make you laugh. “Or a stripper.”

His last word gets a surprised laugh out of you as you, fortunately, understand he’s just joking before you actually punch him in the face.

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief as he sees you laugh and then takes a tentative step towards you.

“I really am sorry…” He says quietly, reaching out to put his hand on your shoulder. “I know it was wrong of me to follow you, and I didn’t plan on bothering you at all, which doesn’t make what I did better,” He quickly adds when he sees you’re about to say something.

“But when I saw you crying, I just… I couldn’t help myself.” He trails his hand down your arm to your hand and takes it in his. “You’re always there for everybody, I don’t think it’s fair that you don’t let anybody be there for you.”

You look at him for a long moment, processing his words. Of course you know he’s right, you don’t let anybody be there for you, but you also never really believed anyone cared enough to.

But looking at Bucky right now, it feels like he really does want to be there for you...

So you let him.

You look back down at the grave, your hand still in his as you intertwine your fingers together.

“She died when I was 14.” You say quietly. “I only had her, so I was on my own after that…”

Bucky listens quietly, his eyes on your face as he sees the tears starting to gather in your eyeline again.

“A few years later, Natasha and Clint found me during a mission. They saw me knock out a dude that cornered me in an alley and they were impressed…” You have a faint smile at the memory although it’s clear you’re about to cry again. “They offered me a place in the SHIELD Academy and, after that, I don’t know… I wasn’t alone anymore.”

You look back at Bucky to find him looking at you intently, his gaze intent and unwavering. 

“Doll…” He says quietly while cupping your face with his free hand as he sees you holding back tears. “It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of the people you care about. You taught me that.”

His gentle words, the way he softly strokes your cheek and the way he’s looking at you so lovingly, it’s all too much for you and can’t hold back your tears anymore.

With a broken sob, you bury your face in Bucky’s chest and hug him tightly, clinging to him while he wraps his arms around you and hugs you just as tight, kissing the top of your head before nuzzling his face against your hair.

In this moment, while holding you in his arms, Bucky realizes it’s not like you don’t feel like you belong with the Avengers.

This is just something you feel like you have to go through on your own because you’ve always had to.

And he’ll be damned if he lets you go through it alone ever again.

Drabble

[dreamtofus]

Can you do a Natasha fic where the reader gets really sick while she's at work, and is kind of going through it with a rude boss, so she's just having a really rough day, but she never told Natasha because she's scared of confrontation. Anyway, the day she gets sick an employee calls Natasha while she's working at SHIELD to inform her that y/n threw up and isn't feeling well, so Natasha drops everything to go and pick her up. She takes care of her and the reader just gets really emotional and kinda breaks down, tells her everything going on and Natasha like HANDS IT TO y/ns boss? Thank you!

by your side | n. romanoff x fem!reader

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: you always put everything you had into your work, pushing yourself until the weight of the stress finally caught up with you. whenever it did, natasha was there to pick up the pieces.

content warnings: hurt/comfort, sick!fic, angst, protective!natasha, caring!natasha, reader gets exhausted (to the point it gets very concerning), very small hint of dark!natasha towards the end, an annoying man *eye roll*

word count: 9.8k

note: WHY IS THIS SO LONG IM SORRY

You worked at a bustling office in the heart of New York City, where the sound of phones ringing and keyboards clacking was a constant backdrop to your life. It was the kind of place that never really slowed down, no matter the time of day, and you were always at the heart of it, buried under a never-ending pile of deadlines and demands. Your boss, a man who thrived on intensity and pressure, never seemed to pause long enough to recognize the strain he put on his employees—especially you. To him, you were just another cog in the machine, a very dependable one, which means he pushed you harder than most.

The problem was, he never knew when to stop asking.

You never said no. You couldn’t. Not when your boss stood over your desk, throwing more work your way without a second thought, his voice always sharp, always urgent. “Can you handle this by end of day?” It wasn’t really a question, just an expectation, and you—too kind, too eager to please—would nod, even though your head was already pounding, even though your body was screaming for rest.

Day after day, it was the same routine: arriving at the office before anyone else, your steps heavy before you even crossed the threshold, often staying late into the evening, long after the sun had set and the streets outside had quieted. You ate lunch at your desk, if you remembered to eat at all, and even when you were home, your phone buzzed with emails and messages that you felt obligated to respond to.

Stress seeped into your bones, deeper with each passing week. It started small—just a lingering headache at first, or a faint wave of nausea that you could ignore. But soon, it became harder to push through. You’d stand up too quickly and feel the room spin at times. Your hands shook when you typed, your vision blurring at the edges. By the time you crawled into bed, exhaustion pulling at you, sleep never came easily. You’d lie there, staring at the ceiling, your mind still racing with the tasks you hadn’t completed yet.

Natasha noticed the changes first, the quiet ways your body betrayed you. The exhaustion was written all over your face, in the dark smudges beneath your eyes, in the slowness of your movements. You didn’t smile as easily, didn’t laugh as often. When you sat together, Natasha could feel the tension in you—how you would fidget, your hands restless, your mind clearly somewhere else. And the more it happened, the more Natasha’s concern grew.

She didn’t like how your job was stripping away your vitality, how the woman she loved seemed to be fading right before her eyes. Natasha had spent a lifetime learning how to take care of herself, how to survive under pressure, but watching you suffer was something she couldn’t just stand by and let happen.

A couple nights later, she entered the apartment quietly, the sound of her boots soft against the floor as she shrugged off her jacket. The space was unusually quiet. She couldn’t hear the usual shuffle of you in the kitchen, the faint hum of the TV or music playing in the background. Her instincts, honed from years of training, told her something was off.

The faint glow of light peeked out from under the door of the small office down the hallway. Natasha’s brow furrowed as she made her way toward it, her steps measured. Pushing the door open gently, she found you slumped over your desk, your laptop still open, a forgotten cup of coffee sitting cold beside you. You were asleep, your head resting on your arms, your body curled into the desk as if you had simply given up mid-task. The lines of exhaustion etched into your face were even more prominent now, your breathing soft but uneven. Natasha’s heart sank, a sigh leaving her lips. She took in the scene—the clutter of paperwork, the blinking cursor on the screen, the clock ticking far too late into the night.

You looked so small like this, your usual vibrant energy drained away. Natasha swallowed hard, a wave of guilt and protectiveness washing over her. She knew you were exhausted. She’d seen it in your eyes, heard it in the tired way you spoke lately.

Natasha crossed the room slowly, crouching down beside the chair. Gently, she reached out, her fingers brushing against your hair, moving a stray lock behind your ear. You stirred faintly, but didn’t wake, your body too tired to register the touch. Natasha sighed again, her chest tightening with frustration at your boss for running you into the ground, and at herself for not stepping in sooner.

She glanced at the laptop screen, at the endless emails and documents open, the work that never seemed to end. Her eyes narrowed, and she closed the laptop with a soft click, shutting off the pressure it represented. This wasn’t what you deserved—this never-ending cycle of work and stress, of pushing yourself until you broke.

"Baby?" Natasha whispered softly, her voice laced with concern.

You stirred, your eyes fluttering open slowly, disoriented and mumbling something under your breath. Her heart squeezed as she leaned in closer, her hand still caressing your hair.

“Let me take you to bed, detka,” she urged softly, her thumb brushing lightly across your temple.

You shifted slightly, mumbling incoherently, “I… I still… I need to finish some stuff first…” Your voice was barely above a whisper, slurred with exhaustion, but still that underlying thread of responsibility ran through it.

Natasha shook her head gently, her hand moving to rest on your shoulder. “No, no, you can finish it later,” she protested softly, but firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Your brow furrowed faintly in protest, but your eyelids were already drooping again, your body sagging further into the chair. “I… I’m almost done, I just…” you murmured again, your words fading as your head lolled slightly.

Natasha sighed, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. Even in your droopy state, you were stubborn. But she wouldn’t let you push yourself any further tonight.

“Come on, baby,” she whispered, slipping her arms beneath you to lift you from the chair. You barely protested then, your body limp in her hold, already too far gone to fight anymore.

As Natasha carried you toward the bedroom, your head nestled against her shoulder as she pressed a soft kiss to your hair before laying you down against the soft mattress and tucking you in under the blanket.

She hated it—hated every bit of seeing you like this. Over the past few weeks, she watched you grow more and more exhausted under the relentless weight of work. It gnawed at her, the way you seemed to fade a little more each day.

You were always so selfless, so willing to take on anything asked of you, and Natasha knew it. She admired your strength, your commitment, but this... this was too much. The late nights spent hunched over your laptop and the way you had started falling asleep at your desk almost every night—it was all wrong. It felt like your fire was being slowly extinguished, and Natasha couldn’t stand it.

She felt helpless, almost, watching her girlfriend work herself to the bone, all because she was too nice to say no. You were always the one giving—too much of yourself, Natasha realized now—and she didn’t know how to protect you from this. She could face any enemy, survive any mission, but seeing you like this, so drained and worn, was something she wasn’t prepared for. It stirred something fierce in her, this protective instinct that made her want to grab your boss by the collar and demand that they stop putting you through this. But that wasn’t how you operated. She knew you wouldn’t want that.

It was just one night later, when Natasha decided that all this would come to an end. She was lounging on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table as she absentmindedly flicked through the channels on the TV. It had been a quiet evening, the kind that felt rare and fleeting in her world. You were working late again, and Natasha had been expecting to see you walk through the door soon, your usual soft smile brightening up the apartment.

But instead, her phone buzzed on the cushion beside her.

Natasha smiled to herself as she answered, but the tone of your voice wasn’t what she expected. There was a hesitance there, a weariness she could sense even before you spoke.

“Hey, Nat,” your voice was soft, almost sheepish, like you were hesitant to ask something. “Do you think… um, do you think you could pick me up from work? I’m just… too tired for the subway tonight.”

Natasha didn’t even need to hear the rest. Her heart clenched at the thought of you trying not to burden her. She sat up instantly, already swinging her legs off the couch as if she’d been waiting for this all evening.

“Yeah, baby, of course,” she said, her voice firm and warm, leaving no room for hesitation. “I’ll be there in soon.”

You let out a small sigh of relief on the other end, a sound so soft that Natasha could practically feel it. “Thanks, Nat. I’m sorry, I just—”

“Don’t apologize,” her reply was immediate, firm. She could hear the way your words trembled, how much it had probably taken for you to admit you needed help. That fact alone made her move even faster. “I’ll be there soon.”

As she hung up the phone, her eyes narrowed, determination settling in. It made her chest ache—you shouldn’t have to ask, shouldn’t have to feel shy about needing something as simple as a ride home.

She didn’t waste a second. Throwing on her jacket, Natasha grabbed her keys and headed straight for the door. She made it to her car in record time, sliding into the driver’s seat with focus before she sped out of the apartment building's parking lot, her grip tight on the wheel. The roads were clearer this late, and she took advantage of it, her foot pressing harder on the gas as she weaved between cars, the streetlights casting fleeting glows through the windows. All she could think about was getting to you. The thought of you standing outside your building, tired and alone, was enough to make Natasha’s stomach twist. You worked so hard, too hard, and the idea of you taking the subway, bone-tired and vulnerable, made Natasha’s blood race faster than the car.

It wasn’t long before Natasha pulled up in front of your building, her car coming to a halt with a smooth screech. She didn’t bother with parking neatly, didn’t care about anything except finding you. Her eyes scanned the entrance, and there you were—standing on the sidewalk, looking small and worn-out under the harsh glow of the streetlamp. Even from the distance, Natasha could see the way your shoulders slumped.

She jumped out of the car, her heart squeezing at the sight of her. “(Y/n),” she called softly, but with enough urgency that your head snapped up. Your tired eyes brightened just a bit when you saw her, and that was all it took for Natasha to feel a flood of warmth.

“Hey,” you said, your voice small as you walked toward her, your bag slung over one shoulder. You looked up at her with a shy smile, almost embarrassed, like you felt guilty for even asking. “You didn’t have to rush—”

“Don’t even,” Natasha interrupted, her tone firm but gentle. She stepped closer, her hand resting on your cheek for a moment, thumb brushing the dark circles under your eyes. “You look exhausted.”

Your lips curved into a faint smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It was a long day,” you admitted quietly, leaning into her touch.

She knew you well enough to see through that smile. You were faking it—putting on a brave front like you always did when you were too tired to admit how bad things were. Natasha didn’t say anything, though. Not yet at least, not wanting to put any more stress on your shoulders for the rest of the night. Instead, she carefully took your bag from your shoulder and guided you over to the car. Without another word, Natasha opened the passenger door for you, her eyes never leaving you as she gently guided you inside. As soon as you were settled, she rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat, her hand instinctively reaching over to rest on your thigh. She kept her hand there, her thumb rubbing soft, soothing circles into your leg. The car was warm, comfortable, but the silence between them was filled with something soft, a quiet understanding. She drove fast, her usual controlled demeanor slipping a little in her urgency to get you home, to get you somewhere safe and warm.

As she drove, Natasha started speaking quietly, filling the silence with soft reassurances and a few stories about her own day—anything to lighten the mood, to keep you grounded. “You know, Fury was on my case about the paperwork again… I swear he thinks I’m made for office work. Can you imagine?”

She went on like that for a minute or two, just talking to keep you company, but when she glanced over at you, she saw you had already fallen asleep. Your head rested gently against the window, the faintest sound of your breathing filling the car. Natasha’s heart ached at the sight, and her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Arriving back at the apartment, she parked the car, then gently placed her hand on your shoulder, softly shaking you awake.

“Baby, we’re home,” she whispered, her voice as soft as the late evening air.

You stirred, blinking up at her groggily, before mumbling something Natasha couldn’t quite make out. She smiled at the sight, though, feeling an ache of tenderness as your sleepy eyes met hers.

You made your way inside, Natasha holding your hand firmly as they walked through the building and into the elevator. In the quiet space, she leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your hand, then your cheek, trying to get a real smile from you. Your lips curved upward, but it was faint—Natasha could see the exhaustion still pulling you down.

Once you were inside the apartment, Natasha felt a strange sense of relief, thinking they were finally home, finally safe. You both kicked off your shoes near the door, and Natasha started to head toward the kitchen to grab a glass of water for you. But just as she turned away, she heard the unmistakable thud of you collapsing behind her.

“(Y/n)!” Natasha shouted, her voice thick with panic, rushing your side immediately. She managed to catch you just in time, pulling you into her arms, her heart racing. “God... what happened?”

Still dazed, you gave her a tired smile, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine, Nat. Really… I just slipped... Got a little dizzy, that’s all.”

“You’re not fine, (Y/n). You almost passed out,” Natasha snapped, her frustration breaking through the concern. “I’ve been watching you every day, running yourself into the ground, and you just keep brushing it off like it’s nothing.”

You sighed, trying to keep your voice calm, though your exhaustion made you sound small and fragile. “I’m okay, Natasha. Really. I just need to sit for a minute. I’ll be fine.” You reached up and touched Natasha’s face gently, trying to reassure her, even if it was far from the truth.

But Natasha’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, she looked even more conflicted, torn between wanting to believe you and knowing deep down that something wasn’t right.

“I just... I just want you to be okay,” Natasha said quietly, her voice breaking a little, the concern clear in her eyes. She wanted to take care of you, to make sure you weren’t pushing yourself too far, but you kept putting up walls—soft ones, sure, but walls nonetheless.

You smiled again, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “I will be fine,” you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Natasha’s temple as if that could erase her worries.

Natasha swallowed hard, still unconvinced. “Can you please just... sleep earlier tonight? For me?”

You sighed and nodded softly, your hand stilling on her cheek, “Okay. I will.”

That night, you actually followed through. You did something you hadn’t done in a long time—you went to bed early, just like Natasha had asked. Your body gave in almost instantly, sinking into the soft mattress beneath you. Natasha, careful and gentle, slid into bed behind you not long after, wrapping an arm around your waist.

The warmth of your girlfriend’s body was a comfort that you didn’t realize how much you’d missed. She pulled you closer, pressing her chest against yours back, holding you as though she could somehow protect you from the stress and weariness that had been overtaking you. You let out a small, content sigh, nestling deeper into the blankets as your hand instinctively found hers, your fingers intertwining.

Natasha’s breath was soft and steady, brushing against the back of your neck. She stayed like that, holding you close, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your breathing. As your body relaxed, Natasha’s heart clenched, knowing how much you had been pushing yourself—too much, too hard. And the thought of you collapsing earlier that evening, that brief, terrifying moment, replayed in her mind over and over.

With her face buried against your hair, Natasha whispered, “I’ve got you, detka,” though she wasn’t sure if you could hear her, already drifting into sleep.

She held you even tighter, her fingers lightly tracing over your skin as if to reassure herself that you were there, safe and resting. Natasha hated seeing you so drained, so worn down by the demands of a job that seemed to take more and more from you. She didn’t like it, the way you always said you were fine, brushing off your own well-being, trying to be strong for everyone else but yourself. She wasn’t used to feeling so helpless, but tonight, at least, she could hold you close and promise herself that she would do whatever it took to make sure you didn’t have to carry so much alone anymore.

“I love you,” Natasha murmured into skin, hoping that in your dreams, you’d feel just how much.

The next day was a blur of routine, at least until everything changed in an instant. Natasha had been buried in paperwork of reports and briefings at S.H.I.E.L.D., her mind only half-focused as she replayed the events of last night. She had been relieved to see you sleep early, hoping that it marked the start of you finally resting more.

Her phone buzzed on the desk, the familiar sight of your name flashing on the screen making her smile for a brief second. She was expecting a cute text or a midday update, hopefully saying that you slept well last night and that you felt much better.

Natasha answered immediately, “Hey, baby—”

But it wasn’t your voice on the other end of the line. It was someone else—a voice she vaguely recognized, one of your coworkers. Her heart dropped instantly.

“Natasha?” the voice was shaky, worried. “It’s Grace. I—I didn’t know who else to call. (Y/n)… she collapsed at work. She’s in the bathroom, and she threw up. She’s barely conscious—”

She didn’t hear the rest. The world around her went silent, her heart pounding in her ears. She was moving before she even realized it, throwing her jacket over her shoulder as she sprinted down the hall, ignoring the questioning glances from her team.

“I’m coming,” Natasha cut in sharply. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

She barely gave her a chance to respond before hanging up, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she burst through the doors of the headquarters, her mind racing with every worst-case scenario. You had been pushing yourself too hard for too long, and now it was catching up with you in a way Natasha had feared but hoped would never happen.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white, weaving through traffic without hesitation. Every second felt like an eternity as Natasha’s mind kept replaying Grace’s words—collapsed, barely conscious, you. The need to be there, to make sure you were okay, to hold you and take care of you, consumed her completely.

She arrived at your workplace in what felt like both a heartbeat and a lifetime, her heart racing as she tore through the office doors. Faces blurred past her as she hurried down the hall, driven by the singular need to get to you.

When she reached the bathroom, Grace was waiting just outside, looking as pale as a sheet. “She’s in there,” Grace murmured, but Natasha didn’t need to hear more. She pushed the door open and rushed inside, finding you slumped against the wall by the sinks, your face pale, eyes half-closed, and your breathing shallow.

Natasha dropped to her knees beside you, gently lifting your face with trembling hands. “(Y/n),” she whispered, her voice cracking, “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

Your eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. “Nat, I… I’m sorry…” you mumbled weakly, and it only made Natasha’s heart clench tighter.

“Shh, don’t talk,” she said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “We’re getting you home, okay? You’re going to be alright.”

But inside, Natasha was anything but calm.

She took you home with little hesitation, bundling you up in her arms and practically carrying you to the car. The ride back had been silent, you were too drained to speak, your head resting against the window, eyes closed, your breathing soft but labored. As soon as you reached the apartment, Natasha helped you into bed, making sure you had water, medicine, and plenty of blankets, wrapping you up in care as you quickly fell into a deep, much-needed sleep.

Natasha paced the apartment, restless with worry. She texted Fury immediately, telling him she wouldn’t be coming in for work until you were better. Fury didn’t argue—he knew her mind was made up, and nothing would bring her back until she was sure you were okay.

Hours passed with you fast asleep, and Natasha found herself sitting by the bed, watching over you, her own thoughts swirling. Guilt settled deep in her chest. She should’ve known. She should have done something before it got this bad. But none of those thoughts would help now. All she could do was be here, to make sure you didn’t have to go through any of this alone.

It wasn’t until evening that you finally stirred, groaning softly as you slowly sat up, rubbing at your temples. Your head was pounding, your body aching, but when you saw Natasha sitting there, waiting patiently, something inside you softened. She didn’t look mad or frustrated, just concerned, her eyes filled with a quiet, unwavering love that you felt you didn’t deserve, not after pushing yourself so hard and ignoring all of Natasha’s gentle warnings.

“I’m sorry…” You whispered, your voice barely above a hoarse murmur. Your gaze dropped to her lap, guilt heavy in your chest. You had worried her so much, put her through this, and all because you couldn’t say no at work.

But Natasha shook her head immediately, shifting closer, her hand gently brushing a stray tear from your cheek before cupping her face with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “Don’t apologize,” she said softly, her thumb stroking your soft skin. “You don’t have to say sorry for this.”

It was simple. Those words. But it broke something in you. You had been holding everything in for so long, trying to be strong, trying to manage it all on your own, but Natasha’s kindness, her gentle touch, undid everything. Tears slipped from your eyes before you could stop them, and within moments, you were crying completely, burying your face in Natasha’s shoulder as the weight of everything you had been holding back came crashing down.

She didn’t say a word, only held you closer, your arms wrapping around you protectively, letting you cry as long as you needed to. She pressed soft kisses into your hair, murmuring quiet reassurances, but mostly, she just listened. She knew you needed this release more than anything.

Eventually, through the sobs, your voice cracked, spilling the truth you had been too scared to admit. “He just… He makes me do so much. He’s so demanding, and no matter what I do, it’s never enough. I’m trying so hard, Nat, I’m trying to do everything right, but I can’t…”

Natasha closed her eyes as she listened, stroking your back soothingly, her own frustration simmering beneath the surface. She wanted to storm into your office and tell your boss exactly what she thought of him, but for now, all that mattered was you.

You sobbed into her shoulder, your words tumbling out between shaky breaths, “He… he piles everything on me, Nat. Every day, it’s something new. More deadlines, more expectations, and he doesn’t even care how late I have to stay. If I mess up—just once—he looks at me like I’m useless. I try so hard to keep up, but…”

Your voice cracked, the frustration and helplessness weighing so heavy on your shoulders, it was like a physical weight pressing you down. Your body trembled against Natasha, and all she could do was hold you tighter, one hand resting at the back of your head, her fingers threading gently through your hair.

“I… I just want to do my job, but he’s always expecting more, always demanding… and I can’t even say no, because if I do, I-I’ll get behind, and then—then I’ll look incompetent, and I can’t lose this job.” Your words came out in a rush, a desperate ramble as you tried to explain further, tried to make sense of the unbearable pressure you’ve been enduring. “I’m just so tired, Natasha. I’m so tired, and I can’t keep up anymore.”

Natasha listened in silence, her jaw clenched as she held you close. She felt your pain as if it were her own, every word twisting something deep inside of her. But beneath the surface of her calm, stoic exterior, something darker was brewing. Rage—pure, unfiltered rage—was bubbling up, so fierce it nearly consumed her. She could feel it burning in her chest, in her gut, the protective instinct inside her flaring dangerously as your words sunk in.

Your boss. The one who had drained you like this, the one who had pushed you so far you collapsed in the bathroom, throwing up from sheer exhaustion. Natasha wanted to march into that office and tear him apart. How could anyone treat someone as kind, as gentle, as hardworking as you this way? Her hands tightened around you slightly, but she forced herself to stay calm, to focus on the moment. You needed her right now, needed her love and her comfort, not her anger.

But in her mind, she was already planning.

“I… I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and broken from crying. “I just… I just want to feel like I’m enough, Nat. I-I feel like I’m doing so much... and I’m so tired of feeling like I’m always failing.”

Natasha’s heart shattered at those words, but she kept her voice steady as she pressed her lips softly to your temple. “You are more than enough, milaya. You always have been. Your boss? He’s the problem, not you.”

You sniffled, pulling back slightly to look at her, your eyes red and puffy, but the pain was still etched deeply into your features. “I just… I don’t know what to do...”

Natasha wanted to tell you right then and there that you didn’t need to do anything, that she would take care of it, that she would storm into that office and make sure your boss never treated you this way again. But instead, she took a deep breath, her voice soft but firm as she held your gaze. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore, detka. I’m here now, and I’m going to help you, okay?”

You nodded weakly, another tear slipping down your cheek, and Natasha gently wiped it away, her thumb lingering on your soft skin. But inside, Natasha was livid. She was already imagining ways to get her hands on your boss, imagining how satisfying it would be to make him pay for everything he had put you through.

For now, though, she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on you, pulling you close again. You were the priority. And Natasha silently promised herself that she would do whatever it took to protect you. She wasn’t going to let this go on any longer. She would make sure of it.

An hour later, Natasha was sitting up against the headboard of the bed you shared with her, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of her laptop screen. You were sound asleep beside her, breathing quietly, your body finally getting the rest it so desperately needed. Natasha glanced at you for a moment. She wanted to do everything she could to ensure you would never feel so broken again.

But for now, there was something else on her mind.

She pulled up her sleek, encrypted laptop—the one she used for her work with S.H.I.E.L.D., her missions, her other life. It was a tool for information, and right now, she needed to know everything about your boss. She typed quickly, her fingers flying over the keyboard with practiced precision, bypassing security walls and restricted databases. Within minutes, she had the man’s entire life laid out in front of her.

He wasn’t anything impressive. Natasha scrolled through his information, her brow furrowing with each new detail. He was 57 years old, with a wife and three kids—two daughters and a son. He had a mediocre degree in business from some underwhelming university, and his career trajectory was equally unimpressive. Fired from several previous jobs, all for various reasons that hinted at incompetence and poor management skills. He had only landed his current position because of a personal connection with one of the board members at your company.

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line as she absorbed the information. This was the man who had been making your life a living hell? A man who barely had the qualifications to run a business, let alone manage an entire office full of hardworking people? Her fingers hovered over the keys as she contemplated her next move. There were so many ways she could make his life difficult. She could anonymously tip off a competitor, sabotage his reputation, or even dig up dirt that would have him out of a job faster than he could blink.

But she hesitated, her eyes flicking back to you sleeping next to her. She couldn’t go too far—this was your life, and any drastic move could ripple back and cause more problems for you. Still, the thought of him sitting behind his desk, barking orders at you, draining you day after day, made her blood boil.

She leaned back against the headboard and closed her eyes, her mind racing. There had to be a way to make things right, a way to make sure you didn’t suffer under this man’s control any longer. She wasn’t just going to sit back and let you be destroyed by someone so insignificant. No, she was going to find a way to fix this. To protect you.

She closed the laptop gently and placed it on the bedside table, her mind already spinning with ideas. She wasn’t the kind of person who let those she loved be hurt. She would deal with this. One way or another, your boss would learn that no one messes with someone she loves.

She lay back down, pulling you into her arms as she drifted off, her mind already formulating her next steps. For now, though, she held you closer, her lips brushing your forehead.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. You stirred beside her, your body moving instinctively as you began to sit up, a quiet groan escaping your lips. Natasha was already awake, watching you closely, her eyes sharp and calculating. She knew exactly what it was you were going to try to do.

"Where are you going?" Natasha’s voice was gentle but firm as she moved swiftly, already getting out of bed before you could muster a response.

You rubbed your eyes, still groggy. “I need to get ready for work…” You mumbled, pushing the covers aside. Your movements were slow, like you were still too tired to fully function, but your determination was clear.

But Natasha was faster, as always. She was already at the foot of the bed, blocking your path with crossed arms and a look that left no room for negotiation. “You’re not going to work today,” Natasha stated flatly, her voice unwavering.

You blinked, taken aback by Natasha’s tone. “But I—”

"No," Natasha cut her off, shaking her head as she stepped closer. "You collapsed yesterday. You threw up. You can barely stand right now. There's no way I’m letting you go back to that place, especially not today."

Your lips parted, a protest forming on the tip of your tongue, but Natasha held your gaze, unwavering and serious. "I already called in sick for you."

Your eyes widened in surprise. "Natasha…"

"I’m not asking," Natasha added, her tone softening but still firm. She moved closer, resting her hands gently on your shoulders. "You’re staying in bed. You need to rest."

You sighed, your resolve faltering under your girlfriend’s care. "There’s still so much work I have to—"

"I don’t care," Natasha interrupted again, her voice a little more gentle now. "You’re not going back to work today." She paused, her eyes softening as she reached up to cup your face.

You bit your lip, looking down at your lap, conflicted. You knew Natasha was right. You knew your body couldn’t handle much more, not after yesterday, but the guilt still gnawed at you. "I just… I don’t want to fall behind."

"You’re not falling behind," Natasha reassured you, leaning in and brushing a kiss against your forehead. "You’re taking care of yourself. And that’s more important."

Your shoulders sagged as you gave in, sighing softly and leaning into her touch. "Okay," you whispered, your voice quiet and defeated, but also grateful. "I’ll stay in."

Natasha smiled softly, her fingers brushing through your hair. "Good," she whispered.

Without another word, Natasha gently guided you back down onto the bed, pulling the covers up around you. She pressed another soft kiss to your temple before straightening up. "I’ll make you some tea," Natasha said, glancing back over her shoulder. "And maybe some breakfast too."

You watched her, eyes heavy but filled with love and gratitude. “Thank you,” you whispered.

She just gave you a small smile, disappearing into the kitchen. Today, there would be no work. No stress. Just rest.

Natasha spent the entire day doting on you, hovering close by whenever she was needed. She moved through the apartment, focused entirely on making sure you were comfortable. Whether it was bringing tea to soothe your nerves or pressing a cool cloth against your forehead, Natasha never strayed far. Every time you stirred, she was there. When you needed water, she was there. When you needed to rest but couldn’t get comfortable, she shifted things around until everything was just right. There were no complaints, no sighs of frustration at all. 

As the evening wore on and the quiet comfort of your day together began to settle into the apartment, Natasha knew she had to take care of something—something you didn’t need to know about. She sat on the edge of the bed, gently brushing her fingers through your hair, watching as you slowly drifted in and out of sleep. The concern was still etched on her face, her brows slightly furrowed even while you rested.

Natasha let out a slow sigh, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead again. “I need to head into headquarters for a bit,” she murmured quietly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

Your eyes fluttered open just slightly, a soft groan escaping your lips as you blinked yourself awake. “Now?” you mumbled, still groggy, your voice rough from the day of rest.

Natasha smiled, trying to make it seem casual. “Just for a little while. I won’t be long. But you need to promise me something, okay?”

You looked up at her, still half-asleep, but you nodded weakly. “What?”

“Stay here,” Natasha said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “No work. No emails. No phone calls. Just rest, okay? I mean it.” Her voice was soft but there was a steel edge to it, and you knew better than to argue when Natasha was like this.

“Okay,” you mumbled, your body sinking deeper into the pillows as you closed your eyes again. “I promise.”

Natasha smiled and stood up, giving you one last lingering look before grabbing her jacket and heading for the door. You didn’t need to know where she was really going. There was no need to worry you more than you already were.

This wasn’t about S.H.I.E.L.D. Natasha wasn’t heading into work.

She was going to pay your boss a little visit at the office—a "talk" that was long overdue. There were things that needed to be said, and she wasn’t going to let this man get away with pushing you to the brink any longer.

Natasha moved swiftly through the streets, her sharp instincts guiding her to your office building with practiced ease. The city had quieted down for the night, only the hum of distant traffic breaking the stillness. She had no real reason to hurry, but the tension in her chest urged her forward, faster.

At the building, it was as quiet as expected at this hour. Most of the employees had gone home hours ago, leaving only the security guards and a few late workers scattered in cubicles on the higher floors. Your boss, though, was always the last to leave. Natasha had done her research. She knew his routine. He liked to linger, even though he barely did anything of substance, making his staff stay late while he hid behind his office door, enjoying the title of authority he had somehow stumbled into.

Natasha slipped into the building with ease, her steps soundless as she navigated the hallways. She knew the place well from all the times she’d come to pick you up late at night. But tonight was different. Tonight wasn’t about waiting patiently in the car, hoping you would come out soon, looking worn but smiling.

This time, Natasha was the one who would leave him waiting.

When she finally reached his office, the dim light of his desk lamp cast long shadows across the room. She slipped inside without a sound, moving with the grace and stealth that only years of training could perfect. She found the perfect spot in a chair in front of his desk, just out of the light, where she could see the door in the reflection of the window but remain unseen. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she imagined the look on his face when he found her there.

Sitting in the dark, Natasha’s thoughts drifted back to you—how pale and fragile you had looked just the night before, falling into your arms after trying to push through another hellish day. It angered her more than anything else. She could fight villains, take down global threats, but this man—this petty, power-hungry boss—was breaking you down in ways that Natasha couldn’t fight with her fists.

But tonight, she’d find a way. One that didn’t involve any violence, though the temptation lingered just beneath the surface.

The door to the office finally swung open, and your boss entered, his voice loud and cocky as he spoke into the phone. Natasha remained hidden in the shadows, her sharp gaze locked on him as he crossed the room, completely unaware of her presence. His tone was sickeningly sweet, but Natasha could hear the sleaze dripping off every word.

“I told you, sweetheart, I’ll be home soon,” he was saying, his back turned to Natasha. “No, no, my wife’s out of town. It’ll just be us.” He chuckled, the sound grating in the silence. “You’re still thinking about this weekend, aren’t you? God, I can’t wait.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened as she listened. Of course, she already knew about the affair—she had dug into his life thoroughly. This man was every bit as pathetic as he seemed, and every word out of his mouth only confirmed what she’d suspected. His voice continued, smug and arrogant as he paced in front of his desk.

“You just keep that dress ready for me, alright? I’ll take care of everything.”

The call ended with another disgusting chuckle, and as he pocketed his phone, still grinning to himself, Natasha decided it was time. The darkness cloaked her presence until the perfect moment. She let the silence linger, just long enough to unnerve him. And then, with a soft but unmistakable voice, she shattered the calm.

“You sure you’ve got everything under control?”

The sound of her voice cut through the room like a knife, and he froze mid-step. He turned slowly, his eyes widening as he finally noticed her sitting calmly in the dark corner of his office, legs crossed, her face barely visible in the dim light coming from the window. Natasha tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable, but the intensity of her gaze was unmistakable.

For a second, he said nothing, his face draining of color as the realization dawned on him that someone had been watching—listening.

You boss stammered, his voice shaky as his eyes darted around the room, looking for an escape. “Y-You’re … that… Black Widow…”

Natasha sat still and threatening in the chair in front of him, her piercing green eyes locked onto his face, her expression cold and calculated.

“Good,” she said, her voice low and steady, with a dangerous edge. “You know who I am.”

The man’s breath hitched as he took a small, trembling step back, the reality of the situation settling in. He had heard of her, of course. Everyone had. Black Widow. One of the Avengers. An assassin. The woman who had singlehandedly taken down entire criminal organizations and brought governments to their knees. And here she was, in his office—calm, composed, but undeniably lethal.

Your boss backed up against his desk, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge. “A-Are you here to kill me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha rolled her eyes, the question so typical, so small in comparison to what she was really after. “No,” she said flatly, her annoyance barely hidden behind her calm exterior.

“I-I have children,” he blurted out suddenly, as if that would somehow shield him from whatever fate he imagined was coming.

Natasha’s gaze hardened, her eyebrows furrowed, and her patience thinning. “I don’t want your children,” she said, her tone cold and dismissive.

“I-I didn’t—” he began to sputter, but Natasha cut him off with a raised hand, her eyes narrowing.

“Let’s skip the excuses,” she said, stepping closer. “I know exactly who you are too. I know what kind of boss you are, what kind of person you are, and I know what you’ve been putting (Y/n) through.”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, but no words came out. Natasha’s presence was suffocating, and he was utterly defenseless. He had never been in the presence of someone like her before, and it showed. His eyes flickered toward the door, and Natasha smirked.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned, her tone laced with a quiet threat. “You’re going to stand there and listen very carefully to what I have to say.”

She leaned in even closer, her expression unchanging, cold, and stoic. Her calm demeanor was somehow more terrifying than if she'd raised her voice.

“(Y/n) is my girlfriend,” she began, her tone flat but every word carrying a heavy weight. “And what you're doing to her… all that work you’ve be been giving her… work that you are responsible for... It stops now.”

His eyes widened in fear, his breaths shallow and shaky. Natasha didn’t break eye contact, her gaze unwavering as she continued, “You’re overworking her. Taking advantage of her. And I don’t like it.”

She paused, letting her words settle before she delivered the final blow. “It’d be such a shame,” she added, her voice dropping an octave, “if your wife found out about the affair. Or maybe your kids—Matthew, Ellie, and little Amy—how do you think they’d feel knowing what kind of man their father really is?”

He flinched at the mention of his wife and children, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. It felt as though Natasha had pulled back a curtain, exposing him to the light of day, and he knew he had nowhere to hide. His face drained of color, his mouth opening slightly as he tried to find his words, but nothing came out. She had stripped him of every ounce of bravado, his secrets laid bare before her.

“I know everything,” she continued, unbothered by his panic. “I know that you sit here in your office all day playing some stupid card game on your computer, I know where you get your suits dry cleaned, I know what time you leave work, I know where you take your mistress. I know where your kids go to school, I know your wife’s phone number. I even know how much you’ve got stashed away in that offshore account of yours. 

He began to tremble, his entire body frozen under her scrutiny. He trembled under her gaze. Her voice, so stoic and emotionless, sliced through the air like a knife, sending chills down his spine.

“You see, I know everything,” Natasha stepped back, her posture still intimidating. “So, you’re going to go in tomorrow and lighten her workload. You’re going to give her a week off, maybe two. Make it two weeks. You’re going to treat her with the respect she deserves. Or… Well, I’m sure your loving family would be very interested in some of the things that I know.”

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as he tried to muster a response, but no words came. The weight of her presence bore down on him, suffocating any bravado he might have had. He could feel the heat of her anger simmering just below the surface, the unspoken threats swirling in the air around them.

“Am I clear?” Natasha asked, her voice steady and unyielding, cutting through the silence like a blade. She leaned slightly forward, her intense gaze locking onto his, piercing through the last remnants of his bravado. “Or do I need to clarify?”

He trembled visibly, the reality of her presence pressing down on him like an anvil. “N-No,” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. “I understand. I won’t… I’ll fix it.”

“Good,” she replied, her tone dropping slightly, the threat still lingering in the air. “Because I will be watching. I have no problem about coming back to pay you a visit if nothing changes.”

He nodded, sweat forming on his brow as he absorbed the weight of her words. The starkness of her promises echoed in his mind, and he couldn't shake the fear that if he didn’t comply, he wouldn’t just be facing consequences from his boss—but from someone who was far more formidable than he could ever imagine.

As she stepped out, adrenaline still coursing through her veins, a wave of satisfaction washed over her. She had made her point clear; the fear etched on your boss’s face replayed in her mind, a victory she hadn’t expected to feel so sweet. He had crumbled in an instant, leaving behind only a trembling shell, and that alone brought Natasha a certain degree of relief.

Yet, even as she walked down the deserted hallway, an urge to punch him lingered like a nagging itch. The thought of his arrogant smirk—now replaced by pure terror—satisfied her, but she couldn’t shake the image of him cowering. A part of her wishes she could have delivered a more physical message, a simple punch to the face would’ve sufficed. But as she rounded the corner, she reminded herself that she didn’t need to; it was a warning well delivered. He deserved every ounce of the panic she had instilled in him.

Natasha made it back home soon after, the familiar scent of home filling her nose, She could feel the weight of the day lift slightly, yet she knew it wasn’t over. Not until she held you close and assured you that everything would be alright.

As she made her way to the bedroom, Natasha paused for a moment at the door. She wanted to shield you from the harsh realities of your work life, to remind you how strong and valued you were. Most importantly, she needed to ensure that you would never feel overwhelmed or neglected again.

With a deep breath, Natasha pushed open the door. You lay curled up in bed, your face soft and peaceful. After getting dressed and ready for bed, Natasha sat on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. She knew she had to be the partner you deserved—strong, protective, and fiercely devoted.

“Hey, baby,” Natasha whispered softly, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath her fingers. “I’m home.”

As you stirred, your eyes fluttered open, and a sleepy smile broke across your face.

Natasha couldn’t help but smile back, her heart swelling at the sight of you. She wasted no time pulling you into her chest, wrapping her arms around your waist as she laid back against the mattress. You nestled your face into the crook of Natasha’s neck, the familiar scent of her skin calming you.

She could feel the tension of the day slowly melting away as she held you close.

The morning sun rose and spilled into the room, casting a warm glow that danced across the sheets. You stirred, blinking the sleep from your eyes, and found Natasha propped up on one elbow, a soft smile gracing her lips. The sight was a balm for your weary soul, and you couldn’t help but return the smile.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Natasha said, her voice warm and inviting. “I’ll make us some coffee. Just relax.”

With that, she slipped out of bed. As Natasha disappeared into the kitchen, your gaze drifted to your phone lying on the bedside table. You reached for it, the screen lighting up with notifications. One message caught your eye—an all-too-familiar name that made your stomach churn. It was from your boss.

“(Y/n), I hope you’re feeling better. You have two weeks off to rest after your collapse. Take care of yourself.”

You stared at the message, your brow furrowing as you furrowed your eyebrows. You reread the text, half-expecting the words to rearrange themselves into something more familiar—something like the condescending, rushed notes you typically received from your boss. But there it was, plain as day.

It felt insane, almost surreal. He had never been this nice before. Your boss was notorious for pushing his employees to their limits, often leaving them feeling drained and unappreciated. The idea that he would suddenly show concern for your well-being felt foreign, like a mirage shimmering just beyond your reach. You thought back to the countless late nights spent at the office, the way he’d demanded more and more from you. Was this a ploy? Some sort of strategic move to save face after your collapse?

Your heart raced as you considered the implications. Two weeks off could be a gift—or it could be a way to push you out without having to deal with the consequences of his actions. The knot in your stomach tightened.

Natasha walked into the bedroom, the gentle clink of ceramic against wood breaking the silence as she placed a steaming mug of tea on the bedside table. The aromatic steam curled upward, mingling with the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her brow slightly furrowed in concern.

You glanced up, the unexpected news still swirling in your mind. “I’ve… got two weeks off?” The words left your lips with disbelief, like you were trying to comprehend a twist in a plot that you never saw coming.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise crossing her features. “Oh, that… that’s a good thing, no?” she replied, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she took a sip of her coffee, clearly unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

“But why would he…” Your voice trailed off, your thoughts racing back to the myriad ways your boss had mistreated you, the way he thrived on making you do so much work, squeezing every ounce of productivity out of you until you could hardly keep your eyes open.

Then, you turned your gaze to Natasha, who seemed utterly at ease, wrapped in the comfort of the morning routine. But you knew all of Natasha’s faces and tendencies—knew the moments when she was holding something back, when the corners of her mouth hinted at secrets.

“Did you have something to do with this?”

Natasha’s expression shifted, the casual confidence fading just a fraction. She set her mug down slowly, the soft thud echoing in the stillness.

“What do you mean?” She asked, feigning innocence, but you could see the flicker of something—was it guilt? Or perhaps a hint of pride?

“Natasha,” you pressed, searching your girlfriend’s eyes for the truth.

She knew she couldn’t keep anything from you; it was one of the many things she loved about her relationship with you. The honesty, the trust—it was a delicate balance, but one she cherished deeply.

“Fine, I… talked to him for a bit,” she admitted, the words slipping out with a reluctant sigh.

Your expression shifted, your brows knitting together as realization settled in. “Is that where you were last night, when you told me you’d be at HQ?”

Natasha winced slightly. “Yeah, that’s… that’s exactly where I was,” she confessed, knowing you could see right through her.

You sat up straighter, your curiosity piqued. “What did you say to him? Did you threaten him?”

Natasha bit her lip lightly, a tad bit shameful, trying to lighten the mood despite the serious undertones of the conversation. “Maybe a little,” she said, but her smile faded as she caught the concerned look on your face. “I just told him to treat you right. That you’re not some disposable employee he can push around. That’s all, really.”

“And what did he say?”

“He was… well, he was scared,” Natasha replied, her tone steady but tinged with frustration. “I told him that if he didn’t back off, I… wouldn’t expose his secrets.”

Your eyes widened, “You can’t just go around threatening people, Natasha. That’s not how this works!”

“I know, I know,” she said, running a hand through her hair in frustration. “But I couldn’t just sit back and watch him run you into the ground. You’re too important to me, (Y/n).”

Your heart softened at her words, your irritation ebbing away as you recognized the fierce protectiveness in your girlfriend’s voice. “I appreciate it, really,” you said, your tone more gentle now. “You could get in trouble for this, you know...”

“I don’t care,” Natasha shook her head, her eyes fierce with determination. “I didn’t like how he was treating you. Your health comes first. I can’t keep watching you exhaust yourself when you have no need to be.”

“Natasha, you can’t just fix everything with threats,” you replied, your voice soft yet firm, trying to find the right balance between gratitude and apprehension. “What if he retaliates?”

Natasha shrugged slightly, her confidence going strong. “He won’t. And I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you. You’ve been working yourself to the bone, and it’s not okay.”

You felt a rush of warmth flood your heart as you listened to her. “But, I’m just—”

“Just what?” Natasha interrupted, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a softer tone. “You’re not just anything. You’re my girlfriend, I love you, and I care about you more than anything. You deserve to be treated with respect.”

Your cheeks flushed, the sincerity of her words wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

You sighed, your heart swelling with gratitude as you looked back up at her.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Natasha settled beside you on the bed, leaning in to plant a soft kiss at the corner of your mouth. Jokingly, she added, “You know, if you ever decide you don’t want to work again, I will happily provide for anything you need or want.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, rolling your eyes playfully, but the hint of a smile tugged at your lips. “As if I would ever let you do that.”

She shrugged, feigning indifference, though the playful glint in her eyes betrayed her. “You think I wouldn’t make an excellent sugar mama? I could totally rock that role.”

“Right, because the world needs more dangerous assassins running a trust fund,” you shot back with another giggle.

“I think I’ll have you know, I’d be also be very happy woman if I got to spoil you everyday.”

“You already do.” You rolled your eyes again, smiling at her softly. “What were his… secrets?”

Natasha gave you a smug smile and shook her head, “He’s an unfaithful husband and he gambles a huge amount of money. That’s it, really. But he’s too scared to confront his family about it… I also think he was mostly scared I’d hurt him. Other than that, he’s just an asshole. I can’t believe someone like him was the reason behind you being so exhausted all the time. God, I really wanted to punch him.”

Your cheeks flushed with color as you threw your head back, laughter spilling from your lips, and in that moment, Natasha was reminded of just how beautiful you were when you let yourself unwind, free from work, worries and stress. The sound warmed her from the inside out, chasing away the shadows that had lingered from those long days when you had been too exhausted to find joy.

The worry Natasha had felt for you began to dissolve with each chuckle that escaped her lips, each teasing jab that came out with a playful glint in your eye. She couldn’t help but grin wider. She moved even closer, unable to resist the pull of your happiness. She reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, moving her head to place a great many soft kisses against your cheek.

"I’ve missed this," she said softly, her smile unwavering as she gazed into your eyes, feeling as if the weight of the world had lifted, if only for a little while. "I’ve missed you."

You smiled at her.

And Natasha stared, captivated and unable to stop her lips from curving upwards. She promised to herself that she’d protect that smile of yours, that no one was ever going to take it away from you ever again, not while she was there.

navigation | n.r. masterlist

[dreamtofus]

special girl.

18+

Being friends with benefits definitely has its perks, especially when the friend in question is as hot as Bucky Barnes - but when you're feeling insecure about the arrangement, Bucky makes it clear to you that you're more than just a friend.

Content Warning: FWB!Bucky x Fem!Reader, mature themes, angst, insecure!reader, mention of reader's unhappy childhood + neglectful parents, hurt/comfort, soft!bucky.

a/n: self indulgent, fluffy cocky bastard bucky to make myself feel better, but i thought you guys might enjoy it too <3 also didn't think i'd be a non-beard girl but the gifs from fresh have me FERAL

You aren't sure how he does it. How he manages to own the room without having to say much at all. He just walks in, two hours late, flashes his brilliant smile, and has everyone in the palm of his hand. It must feel powerful, being in his position. It makes you wonder why he settles for you when he could have any of them.

Stop. Insecurity isn't a cute look.

"And then what happened?" Sharon asks with a gasp, resting her hand on his arm. She's acting a little more drunk than she actually is so that she can get away with being touchy. He doesn't seem to mind.

"What do you think happened?" Bucky replies with that charming smirk. "I told him to go fuck himself."

"Oh, Bucky!" Sharon and the others burst into giggles. "You're too much!"

You mind.

"I don't know if it'll go any further," Laura says with a shrug from her seat next to you. "I mean, Clint's nice and all, but I'm not sure if I feel that spark yet."

"Yet!" Natasha repeats pointedly, squeezing her knee. "You have to give him a proper chance, Laura. He might end up being the love of your life!" The engagement ring on her finger glistens as light from one of the wall sconces bounces off of it.

Out of everyone in this friendship group, you're closest to Natasha and Laura, but you can't help but feel distanced from them during relationship talk. They're the kind of women who get asked on romantic dates and get given flowers and get proposed to, while you're not. You're the kind of woman who guys want to sleep with and keep in their roster for when they're bored late at night. At least, that's what you are to Bucky.

He could have any one of the women here tonight, but he probably knows that they'd be a lot more maintenance than you. You sleep with him without asking for more, and so maybe it's your fault that he doesn't give you anything more. Or maybe he just doesn't want to - after all, that is Natasha and Laura's dating mantra: if he wanted to, he would.

"How about you, muffin?" Natasha's question is directed at you. "Any new leads?"

You shake your head. "Haven't had much time for the apps, to be honest," You say truthfully.

"Just the same old Bucky, then," Laura says teasingly, causing you to roll your eyes.

"We've hooked up, like, two times," You claim. Closer to two hundred. You're not sure why you want to keep the truth under wraps. It isn't like Natasha and Laura would judge you for sleeping with him every week - especially if they knew it was an exclusive agreement - but something about admitting that the closest thing to a relationship you have is a guy who comes around every Tuesday and Saturday to fuck you while your friends are getting engaged and being taken on romantic dates doesn't feel like something you want to do.

"He's probably the hottest guy we know," Laura says as she looks over at him. "If I were you, I'd bag him ASAP."

"Shame about the personality," Natasha grumbles. "If he was nicer, I'd be all for it, but you deserve a sweetheart. I know you're a hopeless romantic at heart."

"Yeah, right," Laura scoffs. "Muffin and romance do not go together."

The difference between your two best friends is that Laura sees you the way you want to be seen, and Natasha sees who you really are. You don't know which one you appreciate more.

Steve's monthly get-together is a good chance for you to catch up with all your friends. Everyone's busy with their jobs and relationships, but the last Friday of every month is reserved for this. Most of these people you don't see outside of these events, but it makes you feel like a social person to be able to say you know enough people to warrant a house party. It's a low-key affair; a sports game nobody really cares about plays on the wide-screen and pizza and snacks cover the coffee table, while everyone engages in conversations and the odd dance now and then.

Everyone brings a bottle and dresses casually, and there's usually a point when Bucky steals you away so you can fool around in one of the empty rooms. In fact, the first time you kissed him was at one of these parties, six months ago. You had just been on the worst date in your life, and Bucky was saying all the right things, and one thing led to another. The night ended with him sleeping over at your place.

"You need to make time for it," Natasha tells you sternly. "Now's the time to slut it up before someone locks you down."

"I agree," Laura chimes in. "Dating is so much fun. As much as I'm not sure about Clint, it is exciting getting to know him."

You sigh inwardly but give them a smile and a nod, hoping they'll drop it. Dating is most certainly not fun for you, and while you're still satisfied with Bucky, you'll keep things the way they are.

"No, Bucky!" Sharon whines from across the room. "I was just getting into that story!"

"Nature calls," He replies smugly as he walks towards the door.

Once he's gone, you stand up and make your way to the kitchen where you make yourself a vodka cranberry. A few minutes later, Bucky walks in, stopping in his tracks when he sees you.

"Woah, are you lost?" He asks, walking over to you with a frown. "The beauty convention's actually a few blocks away."

You roll your eyes at his cheesy line but smile nonetheless, taking a sip of your drink to hide it. "Beauty convention. You're such a dork," You mutter, leaning back against the cabinets.

"How you doing, baby?" He asks as he places his hands on your hips. When he glances down at your drink, you bring the glass up to his lips and he takes a sip.

"Good," You reply simply. "How about you?"

"Good," He echoes, looking you up and down before giving you a confused look. "By the way, do you know what's going on with Sharon? Why does she suddenly wanna fuck me?"

Snorting at his question, you shrug. "Suddenly? Hasn't she always wanted to fuck you?" You wonder.

"No, not this bad," Bucky counters. "She won't stop touching me. Do you think it's my new aftershave?"

You lean forward and sniff his neck, raising a brow. "It's nice, but I prefer what you usually wear," You tell him before narrowing your eyes. "Why are you complaining about a beautiful woman chasing after you?"

"I'm not complaining," He claims. "Simply observing."

"Don't you wanna fuck her?" You ask him curiously.

He almost looks offended at the question, but he quickly returns to his smug demeanor. "That's what I have you for," He says with a wink before leaning in. You move back, paranoid that someone will walk in, and now he looks really offended. "What? I can't kiss you?" Bucky asks with narrowed eyes before he leans in again. This time, you don't move away and instead, you kiss him back.

Kissing Bucky is fun. Usually, you'd be thrown off by the amount of tongue, but something about it being him makes you weirdly okay with it.

"What's your plan tonight?" He asks with a mumble against your lips. "You drive here?"

You shake your head, resting your hands against his broad chest. "I came with Tasha," You inform him. You know better than to bring your car because Bucky always brings his, and when you have the same destination at the end of the night, why take two cars?

"I'll drive you home," He says, as though he has to say it.

Before he can kiss you again, the muted sound of the main room's door opening tells you that someone's on their way to the kitchen. You pull away from Bucky and he wraps his arm around your shoulder, keeping you close. The door swings open and Sharon walks in, taken aback when she sees the two of you but quickly recovering and making her way to the fridge where she grabs a beer.

"He-ey," She sings casually. "So, this is where the cool kids party, huh?"

"Exactly right," Bucky replies, bumping your hip with his.

You shoot him a wink before pulling out of his arm and walking towards the door. "I'll see you back at the losers' party," You call out to them before leaving the kitchen.

Sharon's demeanor visibly changes once you're gone. With a small smile, she closes the fridge door and walks over to Bucky. "Enjoying your night?" She asks him, tilting her head.

Bucky nods, feeling slightly uncomfortable that she's flirting with him when you aren't there to get jealous. So what's the point?

"I didn't get a chance to tell you this, but you look really good," She goes on to say, stretching her fingers around his bicep and squeezing it. "How often do you work out?"

"Uh, most mornings," He tells her in a flat tone. "It's all about consistency."

"I wish I had your motivation," Sharon swoons, before gasping. "Which gym do you go to? I need to come with you; you could really put me to work!"

After bullshitting his way through a conversation with her, Bucky and Sharon return to the main room, where you're dancing with Natasha and Steve.

"So, how's it going with Bucky?" Steve asks you lowly so Natasha doesn't hear. "You guys in love, yet?"

"Shut it, Rogers," You mutter, swaying to the jazz song playing softly in the background with your hands enclosed in his.

"You can't hide the truth from me," He says with a smirk. "I'm his best friend. He tells me everything. Everything."

Grimacing, you pull one of your hands out of his grip and hit his shoulder. "I won't hesitate to beat you up, Rog," You threaten him. "You may be an amateur boxer, but-"

"Amateur? I'll have you know I'm a semi-professional-"

"But I can hold my own against you," You finish boldly. "I know where a man's weak spot is."

He raises a brow at that. "We frown upon below-the-belt hits in this house," He tells you sternly, looking slightly concerned as he glances down at his crotch.

"I'm not talking about your balls," You correct him, before leaning in closer. "I'm talking about your neck." With that, you blow on his throat, making him instinctively giggle as he moves back.

His face drops and he does his best to give you an angry look. "You need boxing lessons if that's the best you've got," He says.

"I think I'd rather die than let you teach me anything," You tell him with a laugh.

"Are you offering boxing lessons?" Natasha cuts in with a hopeful look.

"Not to you," Steve quickly shuts her down. "Last time, you almost killed me!"

"I just need to hone my strength!" She whines. "It's not my fault my instinct is to kill a man who puts his hands on me - you can teach me to fight clean!"

"No, thank you," Steve grumbles just as Bucky joins you.

"Can I see your new ring?" He asks, peeling your hand away from Steve's and pretending to be awfully interested in your jewellery.

"I've had it for years," You remind him with a raised brow, while Steve just smirks to himself.

"Really? I've never noticed it," Bucky claims innocently, rubbing his fingertip over the aquamarine gem. He most definitely remembers it, and remembers the way the silver band feels when you stroke his cock. He just prefers it when he's holding your hand, not Steve. "It's very pretty. Matches my eyes."

"Want it?" You ask, pulling it off your finger before placing it on his pinky and pushing it down. "Suits you."

Natasha links her arm in yours, unable to see the clear tension between you and Bucky as she pulls you away. Sometimes it makes you wonder if she knows you at all - how is it that she doesn't notice the way you look at him, and that it's different from the way you look at anyone else? Doesn't she see that he's softer on you than the others? That you're the only one he's so touchy-feely with? He might be a flirt, but you're the only one he gropes - and you may slap his hand away, but you never tell him to stop. Why doesn't she see all of that?

Is it because it's all in your head? Is he like that with everyone behind your back? Is your selective memory stopping you from realizing that you aren't all that special to him?

"I need to pee," Natasha says as she whisks you out of the room and up the stairs.

It's something of a gathering in the bathroom - all the girls are in there already when you and Natasha arrive. She makes a beeline for the toilet while you lean against the wall, watching Maria redo her lips.

Laura bumps into you, visibly tipsy as she widens her eyes and lowers her voice. "I've cracked the code," She whispers to you while the girls chat amongst themselves. "I know why Sharon's all over Bucky."

"You've noticed that, too?" You ask her lowly, raising a brow.

She nods, resting her hand on the wall behind you and moving closer to you. "See, she may have found out about you and Bucky-"

"What?" You ask her, baffled. "How?"

"...I may have let it slip," She says with a wince. "It was at the engagement party; you and Bucky disappeared, and it was obvious what you were doing. She asked, and I couldn't help but confirm her suspicions!"

"Fuck's sake, Laura," You mutter, not too irritated as you knew the truth would out eventually.

"But she only thinks it was that one time," She assures you. "She doesn't know about the first time."

"Right," You say, surprised that Laura hasn't yet deduced that you've screwed Bucky a lot more than twice.

"Anyway - my theory," She says with an excited tone. "It's, like, psychology - women want men more when they know they're with someone else. It's linked to finding a mate back in the caveman times, or whatever. Knowing you fucked him makes him seem like a more desirable mate to her, which is why she's so into him all of a sudden."

Processing her words, you slowly nod. "Makes sense," You admit.

"Doesn't it?" She asks with a grin before being pulled away by one of the others.

"And then he sent a bunch of lilies to my office," Maria continues her story while applying some lip gloss. "He wrote the cutest little note."

"What did it say?" Yelena asks her with wide eyes.

Maria giggles, her cheeks flushing pink. "I'm not telling you word-for-word, but I'll just say he knows how to make a girl feel special," She says with a smile.

Special. When's the last time someone made you feel special - and not just because you gave them the best head they've ever had?

"I'm telling you, this thing with Kate is moving so much slower than I'm used to, but it's actually really nice," Yelena says as she moves to the side to allow Natasha to wash her hands in the sink. "I can literally feel myself falling in love - isn't that crazy?"

The girls all gush and coo at her words, and you're truly happy for her. You just wish you could relate to her. Maybe it's your own fault nobody bothers to romance you, but it would be nice for someone to sweep you off your feet with a surprise flower delivery.

"What about you?" Sharon suddenly asks you with an expectant look on her face. "How's your love life going?"

Everyone's attention suddenly falls on you and you feel like a deer in headlights. Stunned, you swallow thickly before speaking. "Uh, it's pretty... boring," You say. "Not much going on."

"Really? Why not?" Sharon pushes with a frown. "You're on dating apps, right?"

"Yeah," You confirm, praying that someone else takes the spotlight from you soon. "They haven't been very fruitful, though."

"Oh, of course," Sharon says with a small smile. "You're not really the long-term dating kind, are you? In fact, I can't remember the last time you introduced us to a guy."

"Y/N is doing what she wants to do," Laura chimes in with a slight slur as she walks back over to you. "Not everyone wants flowers, Sharon."

You know she's only trying to help, but her words sting. Who said you don't want flowers?

"I guess," Sharon mumbles, a smug look on her face. "Just be careful. You aren't getting any younger. You don't wanna be the girl that a guy just settles for 'cause he's in a rush to get married-"

"Sharon, shut the fuck up," Natasha cuts her off with a glare. "I'm the only one engaged here, so I have the authority to say that nobody here needs to be in a rush to get married. It isn't 1950."

"Oh, my gosh - I didn't mean to be offensive," Sharon says quickly, concern in her features. "I just want everyone to be happy and in love!"

"Happy and in love don't always correlate," Laura points out. "Leave Y/N alone."

Sharon rolls her eyes and sighs before walking past you. "Calm down," She says to Laura flatly before looking at you. "So, I guess you don't mind that Bucky's taking me out for dinner tomorrow?"

It feels like a slap on the face at this point but you do well to keep calm and collected on the outside.

"Why would Y/N mind?" Maria asks with a frown. "And since when are you and Bucky a thing?"

Sharon shrugs, trying hard to keep the smile on her face small and dignified no matter how much she wants to laugh in your face. "We've been talking," She says with a shrug. "He's cute."

"Bucky's always been cute," Yelena points out, while Natasha and Laura frown at you. "It's the arrogant asshole part we're surprised you'd put up with."

"He's nice to me. Anyway, it's nothing serious," Sharon assures everyone. "Just a dinner between friends."

"We all know what that means," Maria says with a smirk.

Having heard enough, you head out of the bathroom, mumbling something about needing another drink. Sharon isn't getting to you - you won't let her get to you. Even if she isn't lying, so what if Bucky's taking her out to dinner? They've been friends for just as long as you have; it's not at all odd for them to go for dinner. You've been out for dinner with male friends before. But never Bucky.

As you walk towards the stairs, you hear some chatter in one of the bedrooms. You walk in to see Scott, Hope, Tony, and Pepper sitting on the bed, looking at something on Hope's phone. Grateful for the distraction, you wander over and join them, lying down horizontally at the end of the bed.

"Watch him fall over at the end," Hope says to them, squeezing your leg in a quick greeting before looking back at her screen.

There's a short silence before they all burst into laughter, and you smile softly to yourself as Scott's face gradually starts to resemble a tomato. You watch them interact for a little while, quickly remembering they're each in happy relationships when Tony presses a gentle kiss to Pepper's face, and Hope assures Scott she still loves him even when he falls off his skateboard.

You turn around, facing away from them. You feel like an outsider, and that feeling doesn't disappear even when some of the others start pooling into the room.

"You better not be having an orgy without me in my own home," Steve says warningly as he sits behind you. You're not sure who else has come in as you're facing the wardrobe, spiralling in your emotions, but you can hear Sharon laughing which does little to cheer you up.

What's wrong with you? You're content with your life. Are you really gonna let that frumpy bitch Sharon make you feel like shit? That was mean. She's not a frumpy bitch. Just a little sly.

You can't help but imagine her dinner with Bucky. What if he realizes she's more interesting than you? What if they have tons in common and really hit it off? What if he calls you afterwards to tell you he doesn't want you anymore and he's all about Sharon fucking Carter now?

And if he is into her, why did she get asked to dinner? All you get is sex, but she deserves to be wined and dined? What does she have that you don't? Why put more effort into her?

Wiping away the tears in your eyes before they have a chance to fall, you sniffle, glad that the others are having a loud conversation that drowns out your pathetic heavy breaths. Get a grip.

At some point, Bucky walks into the room, curious as to where everyone is. Deep down, he really only wants to find you. He spots you lying at the edge of the bed, frowning when he sees you aren't taking part in the boisterous chat behind you. Sensing that something's wrong, he walks over and crouches down in front of you, taking you by surprise.

"Hey," He whispers, concern on his face when he sees you're clearly upset. "You okay?"

Even though you know he won't believe you, you nod, avoiding his eyes.

He stands back up and part of you thinks he's about to walk away, but instead, he scoops you up into his arms and walks you out of the room. Steve yells something you don't hear, but it makes the others cheer and chorus an oooooooh.

"What are you doing?" You mumble, not trusting your voice not to break if you were to speak any louder.

He takes you into another spare bedroom across the landing, kicking the door shut behind him before walking you over to the bed which he gently sits you down on. He sits next to you and pulls you closer until you're half on his lap. "Talk to me," He says lowly, his tone telling you that this isn't the time to be shy.

You take in a deep breath, deciding the best policy is, in fact, honesty. "Why didn't you ask me out?" You question him, looking down at the carpet while fiddling with a string on your skirt.

"What?" Bucky asks, his hand on your back.

Looking over, you finally meet his gaze. "Nothing," You retract.

"Don't do that," He says sternly. "What's going on? What's got you down?"

Feeling retrospective, you let out a sigh and look back to the ground. "I wasn't ever treated special," You begin, feeling horrifically vulnerable as you open up to him. "That wasn't my parents' fault. I had a lot of siblings; they couldn't afford to give any of us special treatment. But that affects you as an adult, you know? The way you grew up? I feel like now, I'm used to the bare minimum, and I don't ask for more because I'm not used to being given more. I put up with what I get, and I appreciate even just an iota of attention." Turning your head to face him, you look into his eyes. "Is- is that something you can sense? Can you see that in me? That I don't need special treatment? Is that why you didn't ask me out? Is that why... we only have sex?"

It takes Bucky a few moments to process your words, understandably so. You aren't used to dumping your childhood pain onto people, and you feel just as awkward as he probably does.

Instead of directly answering your question, Bucky decides it's his turn to be open.

"Do you remember when we first met?" He asks, to which you shake your head. "Me neither. Probably the first day of middle school, right?"

"Maybe," You reply. The fact that the day you met him isn't memorable doesn't exactly make you feel any better.

"I just remember you being there in my life suddenly," He says. "You were the funny girl who sat next to Steve in homeroom, and I remember being insanely jealous of him every fucking morning."

"Shut up," You utter. "You did not have a crush on me."

He chuckles, rubbing your back. "I did my best to ignore it. Girls had cooties, so I avoided you, but you were always my Marry option during Fuck, Marry, Kill," He admits.

"Really?" You ask with wide eyes. "Not Fuck?"

"Depended on my mood," He says with a smirk. "Most of the time, you were my Marry."

"Who was-"

"I'm not telling you," He cuts you off curtly.

"No, you have to," You say. "Please?"

He sighs, knowing you won't drop it. "Natasha," He admits flatly. "Until she started dating Sam, of course. I'm a respectful man."

"Who was it after they started dating?" You ask him curiously. Don't say Sharon. Don't say Sharon. Don't say Sharon.

"I don't remember, I think it changed every time," He answers truthfully.

"How often did you play that damn game?" You ask with a scoff.

"Anyway, once we hit puberty, we were always both seeing other people, but I always kept a little something for you," He tells you.

"Not during college," You point out.

"Are you kidding me?" Bucky asks you with a raised brow.

"Bucky, don't do this to me," You say, sitting up. "I was literally obsessed with you during college. I- just ask Tasha how many times I cried over you."

"You cried over me?" He sounds genuinely hurt at the news. "Why?"

"Because I wanted you so bad, but you never took the hint," You tell him. "I figured it was because you weren't interested."

"Oh, my God," He grumbles, rubbing his face.

"Are you telling me you've liked me this whole time?" You ask, utterly baffled by his revelation. "We - we wasted so many years."

"Hey, don't say that," Bucky says softly, wrapping his arm around you. "It happened the way it was supposed to. Maybe if we dated as teenagers, or during college, it wouldn't have lasted. We weren't ready for each other. We had to become our own people before we could come together. Cum together."

"To answer your question," He begins, squeezing your hip. "I didn't ask you out 'cause I didn't wanna ruin it. I figured you'd never take me seriously, given what a fucking asshole I am."

You snort, nudging his shoulder.

"You're not that much of an asshole," You assure him with a smile. "Not to me."

"Because I like you so much," He says, making your heart flutter. "That night you kissed me for the first time, I thought I was dreaming, so I just went with it. I was scared I'd ruin it if I tried locking you down; thought you'd laugh in my face at the thought of me having emotions. You seemed to enjoy our agreement, so I... kept on doing it. Kept on doing you."

A laugh leaves your mouth at his wording. "You mean to tell me, that all this time, you've been crushing on me?" You wonder. "You didn't even try to take me on a date."

"We've been on dates," He counters stubbornly. "What do you call our trip to the aquarium two weeks ago?"

"We were high and wanted to see the sharks," You whisper.

"How about all those times I cooked you dinner?" Bucky asks with a raised brow. "I literally cooked for you. I don't cook for anyone."

"We were hungry and bored of takeout," You say with a frown. "Those were... dates?"

"Oh, my God, you're such a fucking dumbass," He mutters, rubbing his temple.

You look at him with adoration, wondering how you didn't notice it before. You really are a dumbass.

"The next time you don't think you're special," Bucky starts, grabbing your cheeks in his big hand. "Think again, baby. You're my special girl. Y'know that?"

Your lips are pursed together due to his grip, and you feel your stomach flip. He leans forward and places a soft kiss on your pout.

"Nobody else means more to me," He goes on to say. "Nobody gets me like you. You're the only one who I care about impressing. All I ever think about is you - what you're doing when you aren't with me, what you're eating, wearing, dreaming about. If someone else is making you laugh. I'm so scared of losing you that I've convinced myself we're fragile. That if I try to get any closer than I am, you'll realize you don't want me. You'll turn around and apologize for leading me on, then realize you want Steve."

"Steve?" You repeat incredulously, shocked to hear the words come from his mouth. You've been drowning in your own insecurity for so long that you never stopped to think that Bucky might be under the same water as you.

"I don't know," He mumbles, pulling you closer. "I just think about you a lot. And my brain likes to taunt me with worst-case scenarios."

"Most of the time," He replies before shooting you a cheesy wink. "Right now, you're my Fuck."

"I get that," You whisper. Clutching his shirt, you move closer to him. "Am I still your Marry?"

You would laugh, but he kisses you before you get the chance. He pushes you down onto the bed and gets on top of you, using his knee to spread your legs and slotting himself between them.

"How could you ever think you weren't special to me, huh?" He grumbles, pinning your hands down with one hand and sticking his other hand up your skirt. "You're the only one I wanna see. The only one I think of. And I wanna be the only one that gets to touch you like this."

You suck in a sharp breath as he slips his hand between your legs.

"I don't make that obvious enough, huh?" Bucky wonders, disappointed with himself for allowing you to question what you mean to him. "Well, baby, that's gonna change." A small grin pulls at his lips and he tilts his head. "Don't want you holding back at all, alright? Want you to be as loud as you need to be to show me how good I'm about to make you feel. I want them all to know," He says, slowly grinding his hips against yours as his mouth brushes against your neck. "Want them all to know you're my special girl."

sorry to be a cockblock but i physically cannot bring myself to write smut right now and i just wanted to post something as it's been a while :)

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Homecoming | steve rogers

Summary: the key in the door is his favourite sound // established relationship hurt-comfort fluff, fem!reader, no use of (y/n), minor description of minor injuries // word count: 1.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

The key in the door was one of his favourite sounds. It's melodic, jingling tone reverberated through the quiet, empty halls of their home and he found himself on his feet through muscle memory alone.

The old door squeaked open — shit, he had forgotten to oil the hinges again — and there you were. In all your sweaty, dirty, bloody glory.

"Stevie." You breathed, feeling your shoulders relax at the sight of him. Your feet ached and the cut on your forehead throbbed with every pulse of blood. Before you could even say hello, he had enveloped you in his arms, the warmth of his body melting away the tension in your body.

He sighed "I missed you." His hands made their way from your shoulders to your head, and concern softened his eyes as he smoothed your crusted hair away from the gash on your forehead. He frowned, the pads of his fingers gentle as he traced the wound. You winced, and he immediately muttered a soft apology.

"Sorry, sweetheart." He whispered, barely audible. "Let's get you cleaned up — you kind of stink." He chuckled, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You couldn't help but smile, despite the ache that pulsed through your body. He placed his broad hands on your shoulders and steered you to the bathroom, placing a kiss on your cheek, and then your neck as he undid the many zips, clips and buttons of your tac suit.

Upon the reveal of several more gashes and a couple of still-appearing bruises, he tsked, his concern deepening. "I thought the mission was supposed to be an easy one?"

You stepped out of the suit fully, shivering as the cool air met your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "It was more complicated than we thought," you answered, voice heavy with exhaustion. "The base had about double the amount of men than intel had indicated. Ended up being a firefight."

He nodded, quietly, eyes flicking over the damage. He quickly asked; "Everyone else good?"

"Yeah, Sam's got a pretty decent shiner over his right eye, but we all made it out with only minor injuries."

He nodded in response, still in that familiar quiet, protective state, as he moved away from you to turn on the shower. This was like clockwork, now. Someone came home from a long mission, the other took care of their wounds, helped them shower, and then it was snacks and movies under the sanctuary of the duvet.

It was the only time Steve let you eat in bed, the poor soul hating crumbs enough for it to be one of the very few sacred rules in the house. But you could get away with it when you had been apart for a while, and he didn't care at all whether there were crumbs in the bed, as long as you were there too.

He moved deftly through the often-used first aid cabinet, finding the antiseptic and cotton pads with a well-practiced ease.

"It's gonna sting." He held up the cotton pad, and you frowned at him in resignation. "I know, you hate it. But it's important." He raised his eyebrow, tilting his head to tell you that it was going to happen whether you liked it or not.

You scowled, but moved your hair out of the way for him to get into the gash. "There we go, I'll be gentle."

His touch was gentle as he wiped over the cut, but you couldn't help but whine as the alcohol burned through the encrusted blood, your fingers curling around Steve's strong bicep for comfort. He murmured gentle reassurances at you through the whole thing; soft, lilting tones of nearly there, sweetheart, you're doing so well.

"All done." He kissed your forehead just next to the cut, and then one more kiss over your eye for good measure. "Come on, get in the shower."

You peeled off the rest of your clothes, each piece revealing more bruises, more injuries. Your body ached for warmth, and when the water hit your skin, it felt like you could finally exhale. You sighed in contentment as you felt human again for the first time since you left for the mission, a week ago.

"Better?" He asked, his voice soft, as he watched from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, arms folded, just to be there with you.

You watched the pink-stained water spiral down the drain, as your body finally relaxed under the near-massage level pressure. "Much better," you responded. "thank you."

He smiled a tender, slow smile. "You don't need to thank me, angel."

You stayed there a little while longer, eyes closed, the gentle din of the water hitting the tiled floor all the background noise you needed.

Eventually, when the water was all but running clear and you finally felt clean again, you turned off the shower. As you turned off the water, you turned around to see him already standing with your towels prepared.

"Fresh out the dryer, just the way you like them." He said with a wink.

You hadn't even seen him leave, wrapped up in the bliss of the hot shower. You stepped out, and he wrapped you in the towels, almost as if he were swaddling you. The softness of the fabric was a comfort beyond words, and you almost melted into his embrace.

He gently dried your shoulders, taking care with each motion, his hands moving with practiced ease. "Stay warm," he murmured, his voice low and comforting. "I’ll be back."

You heard him scrambling around in the other room for a few moments, before his footsteps receded. A beat later, he returned, a smile already playing at his lips.

"Close your eyes," he instructed, his voice playful.

You obeyed, still wrapped in the warm, fluffy towels. "Okay?" you giggled.

You heard him moving around, and then the smile was clear in his voice as he called, "Open them!"

When you did, your laughter bubbled up immediately, uncontrollable. He was holding up a onesie, the kind of ridiculous outfit that could only come from Steve. You couldn’t help it — your laugh filled the room.

"Is it… a onesie?" you asked, barely able to speak through your giggles.

He unfolded it with a flourish, holding it up against his chest as though it fit him perfectly, despite the fact it would never in a million years. The Captain America design was unmistakable, complete with wings on the hood and the bright white 'A' proudly displayed in the center.

"I love it," you said, your voice dripping with humor as you peeled your towel off and slipped into the ridiculously warm, thoughtful gift. "But where's yours?" you teased, still laughing.

"Well, that's the best part," he said, his grin wide and utterly shameless. He pulled a second, larger onesie from behind his back, and you nearly lost it. The absurdity of it was too much — the familiar green hue, the faux straps that looked nothing like your actual tac suit, and the look of pure mischief in his eyes. Tears sprang to your eyes from laughing so hard.

"Oh my god, Steve," you gasped, clutching your stomach as your sides ached from both your injuries and the laughter. "Is that supposed to be my tac suit?"

With a sheepish laugh, he quickly pulled off his sweats and wriggled into the onesie, spinning dramatically for you.

"How do I look?" he asked, giving you a full view of the poor imitation of your high-tech gear.

"You look amazing," you joked, barely able to breathe through the laughter. "You might actually suit it more than I do."

He pulled you into a hug, the wings of your onesie tickling his face as he squeezed you tight. "I could never do that, sweetheart."

He pulled you to the bedroom, where he had already brought through the snacks for your traditional homecoming movie night. He laid you down in the freshly made bed, tucking you in carefully with the plush duvet.

"Steven, you didn’t have to do all this," you said, your voice soft with appreciation, though the warmth in your chest was undeniable.

He gently pushed you back into the bed, settling beside you and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Angel, I’ll do this for you for the rest of our lives."

He grabbed the remote and pressed it into your hands. "Pick a movie— nothing scary," he said with a pointed look. "I’ll get the tea brewing."

You glanced up at him, already feeling the soft glow of contentment settle over you as you whispered, "Steve? I love you."

As he turned, his face flushed, even though you’d said it a hundred times before. "Not as much as I love you, sweetheart."

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[dreamtofus]

this was so good

I was wondering if you'd write anything about Joel and free use?

Love your account babe💗

thank you so much babe, i loved this idea! i hope you enjoy my take on it. i was fantasizing about...

renting a room from joel miller and striking a deal to lower your rent. 

3.5k words 🍒warnings: explicit smut, no outbreak au, age gap (reader in college), female reader, brief mention of f masturbation, free use!!, size kink, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv, use of: sweetheart, darlin' 

click here for more of my writing

So you end up short on options for housing after breaking up with your ex. You know it seems weird to be a young woman willing to rent a room from an older man who is …well in all versions you spin it…a total stranger. But, your aunt swears he’s a good guy. 

She used to live in his neighborhood, knew his daughter, figured he has the extra room and put you in touch. And all things considered, she hasn’t led you astray. I mean, he hasn’t murdered you. 

Okay, it’s not that bad. He doesn’t give off murder vibes either. More like…grumpy single man vibes. But that works out for your arrangement. You’re both pretty quiet and you keep to yourselves. And he’s not too bad to look at. You catch yourself straddling a line between not being the creep yourself and just wanting to get to know him a little bit. 

The real problem has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. Well with your bank account. You’ve been bleeding your measly savings trying to keep up with life and the job you have isn’t really enough to live off of. It was a dream to find a hybrid schedule and work for a non-profit with a mission that matters to you. But it doesn’t pay for shit. 

It’s not like Joel’s overcharging you or anything either. Nothing is affordable. 

And now you’re on your last legs. If you can’t keep this together you’ll have to pack it up and crawl home to your family? Not an option. It’s not like you haven’t been applying for other jobs either. But you either don’t hear back or the schedule won’t work with your classes. 

So here you are. Pacing back and forth in your sparsely decorated room. Between your bed and your desk, wearing a groove into the carpet, chewing on your fingers and obsessively checking your phone to see if your sage friends have any better advice. 

They don’t. 

Well, they suggested selling feet pics online, but even if that could be lucrative—it doesn’t get you the money to spend by tomorrow. You toss yourself onto your bed, exasperated. Last resort. You’re gonna have to be honest. 

It takes a long time to gather the mental courage. You stare at your ceiling for so long your eyes blur. You can hear Joel in the kitchen and with a deep breath you force yourself up, dragging your feet down the hallway until you see him. 

The kitchen is warm, whatever he’d made for dinner earlier smells good. So good it makes your stomach growl, announcing your presence in the doorway. The sound makes you grimace—for a split second you’re tempted to hide. To run back to your room and pretend like there won’t be any consequences if you just don’t bring it up. Ever. 

Too late. He shuts the dishwasher with a loud click and turns, his sharp brown eyes meeting yours. You immediately regret this idea. Your feel like you’re sinking into the floor. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at him now. 

“Hey,” he says gruffly, his voice low and even. He turns back away from you, putting leftovers in the fridge, like it’s no big deal you’ve been standing there silently like a weirdo. “You need something?” 

Your throat is suddenly so dry, you can barely unstick your tongue to speak. “Yeah…uh, can I talk to you for a second?” 

Joel pauses mid-motion, before shoving the last container onto the shelf and letting the fridge door shut, trapping you in the silence together. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks toward you. The way his shirt stretches across his shoulders makes you nervous for reasons you don’t want to analyze right now. 

“Sure.” 

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, your hands twisting in front of you like they’re trying to strangle each other. His eyes flick down to the motion, and you force yourself to stop. 

“So, uh…I was wondering—” You swallow hard. You can do it. “I need to talk to you about my rent.” 

His eyebrows lift, and your chest tightens. 

“Let’s hear it then.” 

“It’s just that I’m in kind of a tight spot right now. Work’s been—well, it’s been fine but money’s tight, and I just—” You’re rambling. Words all running together. “I’m not saying you’re charging too much or anything like that, but—” 

“Slow down,” Joel holds up a hand, and the rest of your words fall flat. His voice is calm, but firm. “You sayin’ you can’t afford it?” 

“I can!” you blurt out. “I mean, I can’t by tomorrow, but I can soon. I just thought, maybe we could work something out. Like…if you could give me some more time or if I could do something to work off some of what I owe.” Joel tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that makes your skin prickle. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just thinking, and the silence stretches too long for comfort. 

Finally, he exhales through his nose, dropping his arms and leaning his palms on the counter behind him. His voice is lower when he speaks again, quieter, like he’s weighing every word. 

“You wanna do something for me?” 

Your heart skips, and you blink up at him. Maybe that was a dumb suggestion. You don’t even know what you have to offer. The house is always clean, the yard maintained, he seems to enjoy cooking. 

“Uh, yeah?” your face contorts a little as you try and come up with a suggestion. “If you’d consider giving me a discount.” 

His lips twitch, just the barest hint of a smirk, and something about it makes the air in the room shift. 

“Well,” he drawls, “If I’m cuttin’ you a deal,---” 

“You’ll consider it?” You look at him with a smile already starting to break on your face. You can breathe. 

“Maybe you can cut me one, too.” He finishes his sentence. Your mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out. There’s something behind his words you don’t fully understand, but it’s stuck in the air between you. 

“What kind of deal?” you manage to get out, your voice hesitant. 

Joel pushes off the counter, closing the space between you in a way that’s casual, but calculated. He’s close enough you can make out the lines at the corners of his eyes, the salt-and-pepper in his beard. His gaze holds yours, steady and charged with something new. 

“You say yes,” he starts to explain, his voice dropping into a gravelly timbre that makes your pulse quicken. “And I’ll knock your rent down as much as you need. Simple.” 

The room suddenly feels small, too warm, like his gravity is holding you in place. 

“Say yes to what, Mr. Miller?” Your voice is soft, just a whisper rolling off your tongue. You have an idea what he’s proposing. The way his eyes flicker with something dark and knowing when you refer to him as Mr. Miller. The crackle in the air between you. 

“I think you know what I mean.” 

You shake your head, ever so subtly, wrinkling a brow. In what feels like slow motion, Joel tips your chin up, between his thumb and curled forefinger. Your face is on fire. Somehow exposed even though nothing else has changed. 

“Whenever I need you. Wherever I want you.” 

For a second you think he might kiss you. It feels like everything in your body is calling to him. His mouth is so close to yours. The words are still replaying in your mind. 

But he pulls his hand back. “Think about it,” he murmurs and brushes past you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. He glances back at you once on his way out of the room. “Offer’s on the table, sweetheart,” he says over his shoulder. “Up to you.” 

You’re left standing, still as a stone, heat prickling up your spine as his words replay in your head. 

What the fuck just happened?

“Hey!” you call out, starting down the hall after Joel. “Wait.” 

He turns, hovering in the doorway to his room. 

“Uh, are you talking about sex?” 

“Yep.” 

Your breath hitches. The corner of his mouth quirks, smug. You look at him with fresh eyes. He’s an attractive guy. Not exactly pleasant, but not a jerk. You can’t imagine he’d have a hard time picking up a date. 

“I’m not a whore, you know.” “I know, darlin’.” His face softens a little. 

The next couple of days are filled with tension so thick it’s impossible to ignore. Whenever you’re in the same room you can feel his eyes lingering on you. He brushes past you in the kitchen in the morning, his hand grazing your hip when he reaches for his coffee mug. 

You catch him watching you from across the room, leaning against the counter like he has all the time in the world. His eyes roam all over your body, dark and deliberate, and you can feel the promise in his gaze. 

It’s driving you fucking insane. You thought he’d have made a move by now. Hell, you thought he’d have made a move the second you agreed to his deal. But he’d only made sure you each had a few ground rules and that was it. End of conversation. 

“Have a good night now, darlin’. Hope you sleep better without having to worry about your rent.” 

Right. You didn’t have to worry about rent. You just had to spiral in your own room wondering when it would happen. How he’s going to take you.

It’s got you so worked up thinking about him you keep spacing out during your work meetings. Swiveling restlessly on your office chair in your bedroom, trying to remember to look focused and add your two cents in for participation. 

But all you can think about is Joel. You’re on high alert whenever you hear his truck roll into the driveway, the door slamming shut with a thud. His heavy steps coming down the hall. You wonder when he’ll want you. You know he meant it. 

You hope he meant it. 

That night, his footsteps pause outside your door, his presence thick in the air, setting your pulse racing. It makes you squirm, adjusting the skimpy pajamas you’ve taken to wearing as your heart beats faster. You can’t tell if he’s debating coming in or if he’s just fucking with you, but it’s got you breathless. 

The next morning, you’re standing in the bathroom doorway, brushing your teeth when Joel suddenly appears, shirtless and still damp from his shower. He gives you a lazy once-over, stepping close enough that you have to press yourself against the door frame to let him pass. 

His voice is low and teasing as he murmurs, “You’re in the way, sweetheart,” leaving your cheeks flaming. 

The next day, you’re still tense. 

Stretching in your desk chair as your coworkers read through their budget updates and data tracking for the grants you’re funded through. It’s hard to stay focused, Joel has taken over all of your thoughts. 

Jaz finishes her update and another department leads the rest of the meeting. You’re shuffling your notes around mindlessly, barely hearing a word. Every thought in your head is Joel, Joel, Joel.

Last night, you’d nearly combusted when he finally walked away from your door. You’d been seconds from begging him to come in, to just take you already. By the time he left, your thighs were slick, and the ache was unbearable. You had to handle it yourself, coming hard and fast on your fingers, imagining it was his thick, calloused hands instead.

But now, twelve hours later, the tension is already back. Worse than before. Every noise in the house puts you on edge. His truck rumbling into the driveway. The front door shutting. 

The meeting drags on, voices fading into a blur—until a soft knock jolts you back to reality. 

Before you can answer, the door swings open, and Joel steps inside like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. He leans against the frame, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly in the middle of something.

Your heart races. Your eyes flick to your camera to make sure it’s off. Muted. Thank God.

Joel doesn’t say anything, just watches you with a smirk that makes your stomach flip. His dark eyes roam over you, slow and deliberate, and it’s like every molecule of air has been sucked out of the room.

He takes his time crossing the space between you, letting the silence stretch. You can feel the heat radiating off him as he crowds you, hands bracing the arms of your chair, caging you in.

“You gonna tell me to stop?” he drawls, his voice low and gravelly.

Your throat is so tight you can’t even speak. You shake your head.

Joel’s smirk deepens. “That’s what I thought.”

His big hands tug you to the edge of your chair, spreading your knees wide. He runs his palms along your thighs, leaving a trail of heat that burns your skin through your soft leggings. 

Your heart jumps to your throat, chest tight. 

The thought of your coworkers just a click away only heightens the thrill. 

Joel doesn’t hold back. Pulling you to stand. Turning you to face your desk and pressing until you lean your elbows on the smooth surface, framing your keyboard. 

You arch your spine eagerly, holding your breath, bracing for his next move. He smooths a palm over the curve of your ass, humming softly to himself, before slipping his hand between your legs. 

You tilt your head, a shaky breath escaping as his fingers press against you, making your thighs tremble. You know he can feel how wet you already are through the thin material. All day you’re wet for him, just waiting and waiting. 

His touch is firm and you grind into it without thinking, making him laugh under his breath. “Shit,” he murmurs. “She needs it worse than I do, huh?” You don’t answer. Just dropping your head between your shoulder blades as he rubs circles against your clothed pussy. 

He retracts his hand, swiftly pulling your leggings down, exposing your puffy, wet folds to the cooler air. 

You stay folded over, forehead resting on your desk, ass arched in presentation. You don’t know what to expect next, your pulse thunders in your ear as you wait. 

His hands frame your cunt, spreading you wider so he can look closer. You’d be self-conscious being studied so closely if you were any less desperate for him to touch you. But all you can do you is silently beg him to do something. 

“Christ,” he murmurs reverently, dropping to his knees behind you. “Just a taste first.” It sounds like he’s talking to himself. You don’t care. 

You gasp sharply the second his tongue dips between your swollen lips. It’s so much better than your fingers and your frustrated, rushed orgasms last night. It’s so much better. 

He uses his whole face, diving deeper, as he groans into your pussy. Your meeting is still in progress, but the voices coming through your speakers could be speaking a foreign language. They mean nothing to you right now. 

The only thing that matters is between your legs. You’re almost embarrassed at how close you already are. You don’t know if you should say anything. If he cares if he makes you cum. Before you can think any harder, he’s back on his feet and you’re whimpering at the loss. 

“I know.” 

The soft clink of his belt followed by the sound of him unzipping his jeans has your knees weak. The thrill that shoots through you is like lightning, ripping through your system and activating every nerve in your body. 

Be good," he growls, dragging his cock through your slick.

“Oh, fuck,” you can’t help the awe and the relief. The heat, the thickness, the pressure. It’s everything you need, but not enough at the same time. He continues for a moment, coating his length in your arousal as you try to swallow down your needy moans. 

He slots his blunt tip at your entrance, adding enough pressure to make you suck in air. Without even seeing it, you know it’s going to be a stretch. Like he can read your mind, or at least your body, he runs his hand soothingly over your spine. 

It shouldn’t melt your nerves so fast, but the gentle touch eases your mind. For reasons you can’t explain—feelings really, you feel safe. 

“We’ll start slow this time, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” 

And then he’s nudging into you, working you open around his wide cockhead. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but you welcome the dull ache. Your throbbing pussy has been begging for it. He pulls back, repeating the slow movement, splitting you open for him a little further each time. 

It makes you needy, you try to push back against him, but he only swats at your ass. “I told ya to be good.” 

Your cheeks feel hot at the scolding. 

“Sorry, Mr. Miller.” It comes out more confident than you expected, your voice smooth and low. 

You can feel the way his dick twitches at your response before he continues, painstakingly slowly, filling you up. You’re still frustrated, but each time he thrusts into you, your knees almost buckle and you know he hasn’t made it all the way in yet. You’re still hungry for that feeling, for his hips to meet your ass, flush. 

You can’t hold back your moans as he drags along your nerves. He already has your eyes rolling back and he’s not even fucking you yet. 

Until he stops, held still halfway inside of you. You blink your eyes open, trying not to whine. 

He says your name like he’s been calling it and you’ve been ignoring him. “Hmm?” you respond. 

“Think they’re waiting for your answer.” 

“Oh, shit.” 

Joel still doesn’t move. You unmute your mic, trying to steady your voice. “I’m really sorry, uh, can you repeat the question?” 

“Just confirming your mid-cycle reports are already submitted.” 

“Yes.” 

“Great.” 

You mute the mic again and Joel slams the rest of the way home, making you cry out in surprise. 

He doesn’t hold back now, his rough hand gripping your hip as he takes you, low grunts echoing in your room as he snaps his hips forward. Your ass ripples, bouncing off of him with every thrust and the filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin fill your ears. 

He hits so fucking deep at this angle, you can barely think. His balls slap against you and for some reason that makes you even more crazy for him. You meet his every thrust with the same energy, fucking hard. So hard your desk rattles, but neither of you can be bothered by it’s structural integrity. 

He keeps you on edge, pounding into you as the pressure builds. When you shift slightly, his cock drags over the devastating spot that makes you nearly wail.

“Yeah?” he asks as if you could respond right now. “Right there?” 

“Mmm,” is all you can manage. 

“Good. Let me have it. Rub that pretty clit of yours for me, I wanna feel her trying to milk me dry.” 

Fuck. His filthy words nearly send you over the edge immediately, but when you slip your own hand between your legs, it’s euphoric. Furiously working at your slick, swollen bundle of nerves you drive yourself to the brink. 

“Gonna–ah!--gonna cum,” You get the breathy, gasping words out right as your pussy starts to clench around him. He groans lowly, making you see stars as your climax tears through you. 

The waves are still rolling through your muscles, your core still tensing, when he pulls out. The slick sounds as he pumps his cock rapidly are obscene and you don’t want them to stop. But then you feel his hot cum painting your ass, and you’re moaning in unison. 

Then he’s pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before slinking out of your room. You grimace. Tuning back in to the speaker still rambling on about god knows what on your computer. Before you can move, Joel is back with a small towel to clean you up. 

You’re stuck in a daze. A blissed-out state, as you straighten up and pull your leggings back up. Joel’s about to slip back out the door as if nothing happened. Before he steps out of the room though, he gives you a knowing smirk, “You did good for me, darlin’.” 

You’re left staring at the closed door, breathless and trembling, the heat of his touch still lingering on your skin. Rent isn’t the problem anymore. Joel Miller is.

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[dreamtofus]

I was wondering if you'd write anything about Joel and free use?

Love your account babe💗

thank you so much babe, i loved this idea! i hope you enjoy my take on it. i was fantasizing about...

renting a room from joel miller and striking a deal to lower your rent. 

3.5k words 🍒warnings: explicit smut, no outbreak au, age gap (reader in college), female reader, brief mention of f masturbation, free use!!, size kink, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv, use of: sweetheart, darlin' 

click here for more of my writing

So you end up short on options for housing after breaking up with your ex. You know it seems weird to be a young woman willing to rent a room from an older man who is …well in all versions you spin it…a total stranger. But, your aunt swears he’s a good guy. 

She used to live in his neighborhood, knew his daughter, figured he has the extra room and put you in touch. And all things considered, she hasn’t led you astray. I mean, he hasn’t murdered you. 

Okay, it’s not that bad. He doesn’t give off murder vibes either. More like…grumpy single man vibes. But that works out for your arrangement. You’re both pretty quiet and you keep to yourselves. And he’s not too bad to look at. You catch yourself straddling a line between not being the creep yourself and just wanting to get to know him a little bit. 

The real problem has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. Well with your bank account. You’ve been bleeding your measly savings trying to keep up with life and the job you have isn’t really enough to live off of. It was a dream to find a hybrid schedule and work for a non-profit with a mission that matters to you. But it doesn’t pay for shit. 

It’s not like Joel’s overcharging you or anything either. Nothing is affordable. 

And now you’re on your last legs. If you can’t keep this together you’ll have to pack it up and crawl home to your family? Not an option. It’s not like you haven’t been applying for other jobs either. But you either don’t hear back or the schedule won’t work with your classes. 

So here you are. Pacing back and forth in your sparsely decorated room. Between your bed and your desk, wearing a groove into the carpet, chewing on your fingers and obsessively checking your phone to see if your sage friends have any better advice. 

They don’t. 

Well, they suggested selling feet pics online, but even if that could be lucrative—it doesn’t get you the money to spend by tomorrow. You toss yourself onto your bed, exasperated. Last resort. You’re gonna have to be honest. 

It takes a long time to gather the mental courage. You stare at your ceiling for so long your eyes blur. You can hear Joel in the kitchen and with a deep breath you force yourself up, dragging your feet down the hallway until you see him. 

The kitchen is warm, whatever he’d made for dinner earlier smells good. So good it makes your stomach growl, announcing your presence in the doorway. The sound makes you grimace—for a split second you’re tempted to hide. To run back to your room and pretend like there won’t be any consequences if you just don’t bring it up. Ever. 

Too late. He shuts the dishwasher with a loud click and turns, his sharp brown eyes meeting yours. You immediately regret this idea. Your feel like you’re sinking into the floor. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at him now. 

“Hey,” he says gruffly, his voice low and even. He turns back away from you, putting leftovers in the fridge, like it’s no big deal you’ve been standing there silently like a weirdo. “You need something?” 

Your throat is suddenly so dry, you can barely unstick your tongue to speak. “Yeah…uh, can I talk to you for a second?” 

Joel pauses mid-motion, before shoving the last container onto the shelf and letting the fridge door shut, trapping you in the silence together. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks toward you. The way his shirt stretches across his shoulders makes you nervous for reasons you don’t want to analyze right now. 

“Sure.” 

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, your hands twisting in front of you like they’re trying to strangle each other. His eyes flick down to the motion, and you force yourself to stop. 

“So, uh…I was wondering—” You swallow hard. You can do it. “I need to talk to you about my rent.” 

His eyebrows lift, and your chest tightens. 

“Let’s hear it then.” 

“It’s just that I’m in kind of a tight spot right now. Work’s been—well, it’s been fine but money’s tight, and I just—” You’re rambling. Words all running together. “I’m not saying you’re charging too much or anything like that, but—” 

“Slow down,” Joel holds up a hand, and the rest of your words fall flat. His voice is calm, but firm. “You sayin’ you can’t afford it?” 

“I can!” you blurt out. “I mean, I can’t by tomorrow, but I can soon. I just thought, maybe we could work something out. Like…if you could give me some more time or if I could do something to work off some of what I owe.” Joel tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that makes your skin prickle. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just thinking, and the silence stretches too long for comfort. 

Finally, he exhales through his nose, dropping his arms and leaning his palms on the counter behind him. His voice is lower when he speaks again, quieter, like he’s weighing every word. 

“You wanna do something for me?” 

Your heart skips, and you blink up at him. Maybe that was a dumb suggestion. You don’t even know what you have to offer. The house is always clean, the yard maintained, he seems to enjoy cooking. 

“Uh, yeah?” your face contorts a little as you try and come up with a suggestion. “If you’d consider giving me a discount.” 

His lips twitch, just the barest hint of a smirk, and something about it makes the air in the room shift. 

“Well,” he drawls, “If I’m cuttin’ you a deal,---” 

“You’ll consider it?” You look at him with a smile already starting to break on your face. You can breathe. 

“Maybe you can cut me one, too.” He finishes his sentence. Your mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out. There’s something behind his words you don’t fully understand, but it’s stuck in the air between you. 

“What kind of deal?” you manage to get out, your voice hesitant. 

Joel pushes off the counter, closing the space between you in a way that’s casual, but calculated. He’s close enough you can make out the lines at the corners of his eyes, the salt-and-pepper in his beard. His gaze holds yours, steady and charged with something new. 

“You say yes,” he starts to explain, his voice dropping into a gravelly timbre that makes your pulse quicken. “And I’ll knock your rent down as much as you need. Simple.” 

The room suddenly feels small, too warm, like his gravity is holding you in place. 

“Say yes to what, Mr. Miller?” Your voice is soft, just a whisper rolling off your tongue. You have an idea what he’s proposing. The way his eyes flicker with something dark and knowing when you refer to him as Mr. Miller. The crackle in the air between you. 

“I think you know what I mean.” 

You shake your head, ever so subtly, wrinkling a brow. In what feels like slow motion, Joel tips your chin up, between his thumb and curled forefinger. Your face is on fire. Somehow exposed even though nothing else has changed. 

“Whenever I need you. Wherever I want you.” 

For a second you think he might kiss you. It feels like everything in your body is calling to him. His mouth is so close to yours. The words are still replaying in your mind. 

But he pulls his hand back. “Think about it,” he murmurs and brushes past you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. He glances back at you once on his way out of the room. “Offer’s on the table, sweetheart,” he says over his shoulder. “Up to you.” 

You’re left standing, still as a stone, heat prickling up your spine as his words replay in your head. 

What the fuck just happened?

“Hey!” you call out, starting down the hall after Joel. “Wait.” 

He turns, hovering in the doorway to his room. 

“Uh, are you talking about sex?” 

“Yep.” 

Your breath hitches. The corner of his mouth quirks, smug. You look at him with fresh eyes. He’s an attractive guy. Not exactly pleasant, but not a jerk. You can’t imagine he’d have a hard time picking up a date. 

“I’m not a whore, you know.” “I know, darlin’.” His face softens a little. 

The next couple of days are filled with tension so thick it’s impossible to ignore. Whenever you’re in the same room you can feel his eyes lingering on you. He brushes past you in the kitchen in the morning, his hand grazing your hip when he reaches for his coffee mug. 

You catch him watching you from across the room, leaning against the counter like he has all the time in the world. His eyes roam all over your body, dark and deliberate, and you can feel the promise in his gaze. 

It’s driving you fucking insane. You thought he’d have made a move by now. Hell, you thought he’d have made a move the second you agreed to his deal. But he’d only made sure you each had a few ground rules and that was it. End of conversation. 

“Have a good night now, darlin’. Hope you sleep better without having to worry about your rent.” 

Right. You didn’t have to worry about rent. You just had to spiral in your own room wondering when it would happen. How he’s going to take you.

It’s got you so worked up thinking about him you keep spacing out during your work meetings. Swiveling restlessly on your office chair in your bedroom, trying to remember to look focused and add your two cents in for participation. 

But all you can think about is Joel. You’re on high alert whenever you hear his truck roll into the driveway, the door slamming shut with a thud. His heavy steps coming down the hall. You wonder when he’ll want you. You know he meant it. 

You hope he meant it. 

That night, his footsteps pause outside your door, his presence thick in the air, setting your pulse racing. It makes you squirm, adjusting the skimpy pajamas you’ve taken to wearing as your heart beats faster. You can’t tell if he’s debating coming in or if he’s just fucking with you, but it’s got you breathless. 

The next morning, you’re standing in the bathroom doorway, brushing your teeth when Joel suddenly appears, shirtless and still damp from his shower. He gives you a lazy once-over, stepping close enough that you have to press yourself against the door frame to let him pass. 

His voice is low and teasing as he murmurs, “You’re in the way, sweetheart,” leaving your cheeks flaming. 

The next day, you’re still tense. 

Stretching in your desk chair as your coworkers read through their budget updates and data tracking for the grants you’re funded through. It’s hard to stay focused, Joel has taken over all of your thoughts. 

Jaz finishes her update and another department leads the rest of the meeting. You’re shuffling your notes around mindlessly, barely hearing a word. Every thought in your head is Joel, Joel, Joel.

Last night, you’d nearly combusted when he finally walked away from your door. You’d been seconds from begging him to come in, to just take you already. By the time he left, your thighs were slick, and the ache was unbearable. You had to handle it yourself, coming hard and fast on your fingers, imagining it was his thick, calloused hands instead.

But now, twelve hours later, the tension is already back. Worse than before. Every noise in the house puts you on edge. His truck rumbling into the driveway. The front door shutting. 

The meeting drags on, voices fading into a blur—until a soft knock jolts you back to reality. 

Before you can answer, the door swings open, and Joel steps inside like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. He leans against the frame, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly in the middle of something.

Your heart races. Your eyes flick to your camera to make sure it’s off. Muted. Thank God.

Joel doesn’t say anything, just watches you with a smirk that makes your stomach flip. His dark eyes roam over you, slow and deliberate, and it’s like every molecule of air has been sucked out of the room.

He takes his time crossing the space between you, letting the silence stretch. You can feel the heat radiating off him as he crowds you, hands bracing the arms of your chair, caging you in.

“You gonna tell me to stop?” he drawls, his voice low and gravelly.

Your throat is so tight you can’t even speak. You shake your head.

Joel’s smirk deepens. “That’s what I thought.”

His big hands tug you to the edge of your chair, spreading your knees wide. He runs his palms along your thighs, leaving a trail of heat that burns your skin through your soft leggings. 

Your heart jumps to your throat, chest tight. 

The thought of your coworkers just a click away only heightens the thrill. 

Joel doesn’t hold back. Pulling you to stand. Turning you to face your desk and pressing until you lean your elbows on the smooth surface, framing your keyboard. 

You arch your spine eagerly, holding your breath, bracing for his next move. He smooths a palm over the curve of your ass, humming softly to himself, before slipping his hand between your legs. 

You tilt your head, a shaky breath escaping as his fingers press against you, making your thighs tremble. You know he can feel how wet you already are through the thin material. All day you’re wet for him, just waiting and waiting. 

His touch is firm and you grind into it without thinking, making him laugh under his breath. “Shit,” he murmurs. “She needs it worse than I do, huh?” You don’t answer. Just dropping your head between your shoulder blades as he rubs circles against your clothed pussy. 

He retracts his hand, swiftly pulling your leggings down, exposing your puffy, wet folds to the cooler air. 

You stay folded over, forehead resting on your desk, ass arched in presentation. You don’t know what to expect next, your pulse thunders in your ear as you wait. 

His hands frame your cunt, spreading you wider so he can look closer. You’d be self-conscious being studied so closely if you were any less desperate for him to touch you. But all you can do you is silently beg him to do something. 

“Christ,” he murmurs reverently, dropping to his knees behind you. “Just a taste first.” It sounds like he’s talking to himself. You don’t care. 

You gasp sharply the second his tongue dips between your swollen lips. It’s so much better than your fingers and your frustrated, rushed orgasms last night. It’s so much better. 

He uses his whole face, diving deeper, as he groans into your pussy. Your meeting is still in progress, but the voices coming through your speakers could be speaking a foreign language. They mean nothing to you right now. 

The only thing that matters is between your legs. You’re almost embarrassed at how close you already are. You don’t know if you should say anything. If he cares if he makes you cum. Before you can think any harder, he’s back on his feet and you’re whimpering at the loss. 

“I know.” 

The soft clink of his belt followed by the sound of him unzipping his jeans has your knees weak. The thrill that shoots through you is like lightning, ripping through your system and activating every nerve in your body. 

Be good," he growls, dragging his cock through your slick.

“Oh, fuck,” you can’t help the awe and the relief. The heat, the thickness, the pressure. It’s everything you need, but not enough at the same time. He continues for a moment, coating his length in your arousal as you try to swallow down your needy moans. 

He slots his blunt tip at your entrance, adding enough pressure to make you suck in air. Without even seeing it, you know it’s going to be a stretch. Like he can read your mind, or at least your body, he runs his hand soothingly over your spine. 

It shouldn’t melt your nerves so fast, but the gentle touch eases your mind. For reasons you can’t explain—feelings really, you feel safe. 

“We’ll start slow this time, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” 

And then he’s nudging into you, working you open around his wide cockhead. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but you welcome the dull ache. Your throbbing pussy has been begging for it. He pulls back, repeating the slow movement, splitting you open for him a little further each time. 

It makes you needy, you try to push back against him, but he only swats at your ass. “I told ya to be good.” 

Your cheeks feel hot at the scolding. 

“Sorry, Mr. Miller.” It comes out more confident than you expected, your voice smooth and low. 

You can feel the way his dick twitches at your response before he continues, painstakingly slowly, filling you up. You’re still frustrated, but each time he thrusts into you, your knees almost buckle and you know he hasn’t made it all the way in yet. You’re still hungry for that feeling, for his hips to meet your ass, flush. 

You can’t hold back your moans as he drags along your nerves. He already has your eyes rolling back and he’s not even fucking you yet. 

Until he stops, held still halfway inside of you. You blink your eyes open, trying not to whine. 

He says your name like he’s been calling it and you’ve been ignoring him. “Hmm?” you respond. 

“Think they’re waiting for your answer.” 

“Oh, shit.” 

Joel still doesn’t move. You unmute your mic, trying to steady your voice. “I’m really sorry, uh, can you repeat the question?” 

“Just confirming your mid-cycle reports are already submitted.” 

“Yes.” 

“Great.” 

You mute the mic again and Joel slams the rest of the way home, making you cry out in surprise. 

He doesn’t hold back now, his rough hand gripping your hip as he takes you, low grunts echoing in your room as he snaps his hips forward. Your ass ripples, bouncing off of him with every thrust and the filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin fill your ears. 

He hits so fucking deep at this angle, you can barely think. His balls slap against you and for some reason that makes you even more crazy for him. You meet his every thrust with the same energy, fucking hard. So hard your desk rattles, but neither of you can be bothered by it’s structural integrity. 

He keeps you on edge, pounding into you as the pressure builds. When you shift slightly, his cock drags over the devastating spot that makes you nearly wail.

“Yeah?” he asks as if you could respond right now. “Right there?” 

“Mmm,” is all you can manage. 

“Good. Let me have it. Rub that pretty clit of yours for me, I wanna feel her trying to milk me dry.” 

Fuck. His filthy words nearly send you over the edge immediately, but when you slip your own hand between your legs, it’s euphoric. Furiously working at your slick, swollen bundle of nerves you drive yourself to the brink. 

“Gonna–ah!--gonna cum,” You get the breathy, gasping words out right as your pussy starts to clench around him. He groans lowly, making you see stars as your climax tears through you. 

The waves are still rolling through your muscles, your core still tensing, when he pulls out. The slick sounds as he pumps his cock rapidly are obscene and you don’t want them to stop. But then you feel his hot cum painting your ass, and you’re moaning in unison. 

Then he’s pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before slinking out of your room. You grimace. Tuning back in to the speaker still rambling on about god knows what on your computer. Before you can move, Joel is back with a small towel to clean you up. 

You’re stuck in a daze. A blissed-out state, as you straighten up and pull your leggings back up. Joel’s about to slip back out the door as if nothing happened. Before he steps out of the room though, he gives you a knowing smirk, “You did good for me, darlin’.” 

You’re left staring at the closed door, breathless and trembling, the heat of his touch still lingering on your skin. Rent isn’t the problem anymore. Joel Miller is.

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[dreamtofus]

Oh, your love is sunlight

Masterlist

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x female reader

Summary: When night terrors pull you from sleep, your patrol partner - Joel, just wants to take care of you. After a night of comfort and heartfelt confessions, tensions rise between you both, your nightmares left forgotten when you’re bent over the breakfast table. Who cares if you’re late for patrol, right?

Tags: Explicit* MDNI, mutual pining, comfort, insomnia, SMUT* fingering, unprotected p in v sex, bodily fluids

Wc: 7.3k (that wasn’t supposed to happen)

Authors note: reader’s got it made, all i do is sleep and dream abt fucking that old man and wake up to the nightmare that it wasn’t real. who gave me uno reverse. anyway, enjoy! as always pls give your feedback or reblog, you make my day better 🖤✨ dividers by @saradika-graphics

If anyone happened to be out at this late hour, they’d take one look at you and think you’d lost your mind.

It’s the heart of winter in Wyoming, the night sky a vast, unforgiving black after days of relentless snow. The cold night is the only witness to you sitting on the steps of your porch in your sleep wear, Joel’s thick jacket wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

And it’s not that you don’t feel the cold - you do, but that’s the point.

You deem sitting out here with your blood threatening to freeze in your veins the better option to writhing restlessly in your sheets, chasing sleep that never comes.

At least here, the wind that slices viciously at your cheeks is something you can feel, something that serves as distraction from the very thing that always drives you out here.

Fear.

It isn’t uncommon for your nights to end up this way.

Some nights, sleep finds you easily and the persistent torment of the terrors that plague your dreams are kept at bay, they don’t rip you from your much needed respite.

Other nights, much like tonight, the very idea of them silently prying their way into your head is enough to stop you from finding any state of rest to begin with.

So here you sit, numb fingers tracing the intricate patterns of the frost already beginning to form on the ageing wood of the porch steps. The howling of the bitter wind serves as the perfect distraction from your thoughts as you tune your ear to the way it whistles and groans. Comfortingly, it seems to understand exactly how you feel.

To your dismay, your quiet solace is shattered as the path in front of you is illuminated from behind, your shadow hovering in front of you like a ghost.

Fuck.

Most nights you’re successful at silently making your way out of the house, well practiced in stepping across any creaky floorboards that might alert your slumbering patrol partner.

Tonight, your efforts prove futile, your stomach sinking as you hear the low moan of the door open, fighting against the wind.

“The hell are you doin’ out here?” Joel’s voice calls, thick with sleep.

You turn quickly, taking in his dishevelled appearance as he stands in the doorway of your shared home. The warmth of the light inside illuminates him from behind, guilt pooling in your stomach as you capture the tired lines that paint his face with exhaustion.

“Joel.. shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you” you rush to apologise.

“It’s alright, I was barely even sleepin’,”he dismisses the look of concern on your face with a wave of his hand. “What are ya doin’ out in the cold at this hour?” he asks softly, as though he’s trying not to spook you.

You shrug your shoulders indifferently, focusing your attention on his feet. “Just couldn’t sleep I guess” you mumble.

Joel closes the door gently, crossing the small stretch of the porch to stand beside where you’re sitting. He gazes down at you with a look of understanding, one that soothes you yet makes your heart ache all at once.

“Bad dreams?” he asks, holding out a hand to urge you to stand.

A quiet huff passes your lips as you meet his eye. “There any other kind?” you half joke, grabbing his hand and hauling yourself to your feet.

Joel lets out a low chuckle, understanding better than anyone the difficulties that lie in finding a peaceful night's sleep.

“Guess you’re right” he says dryly, warm eyes scanning over your form.

The first thing he notes is that you’re wearing his jacket, a detail that tightens his chest with a pang of something warm, but he wills himself not to linger on the fact.

It’s cold after all.

The feeling is quickly replaced with one of unease as his eyes flick to the pistol tucked into your waistband.

“You uh... plannin’ on goin’ past the wall?” he asks carefully, nodding down at your weapon.

You panic as you look down at your gun, your hand quickly clamping around the grip at your waist.

“Oh - no, I just..” you blurt, feeling somewhat embarrassed. “I guess I just have a habit of keeping it with me. It keeps some of the fear away, y’know?” you end with a shrug.

Joel’s jaw tightens as he studies you, his silence enough proof that he knows the fear you speak of. The kind that claws its way into your bones and makes you feel like you’ll never know the luxury of safety again.

A particularly sharp gust of wind draws both of your attention, the shutters on the windows rattling loudly. Joel glances down the street, before bringing his eyes back to you.

“C’mon” he says softly, his hand settling at the small of your back. “Too damn cold out here, let’s get you back inside”

Reluctantly, you let him lead you back into the house.

The warmth that embraces you is jarring in contrast to the bitter cold, but you welcome it as Joel quietly closes the door behind you.

The heavy thunk of the lock echoes through the hallway, and for the first time tonight, you feel a small sense of safety wash away some of the fear still lingering in your stomach.

Joel is close beside you, his hand still resting on your lower back. You can feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of his jacket, his touch grounding you in a way you’d never dare to admit aloud.

“Go sit” he says, his voice low and tinged with concern. He nods in the direction of the living room, his eyes softening in a way that makes your heart flutter.

You hesitate, guilt blooming beneath your ribs yet again for waking him in the middle of the night.

The idea of being a burden doesn’t sit well with you, but you know Joel well enough now to understand that there’s no use arguing with him - particularly when his features are painted with a look that silently dares you to defy him.

With a resigned sigh, you pace your way over to the couch and sink gladly into its worn cushions, exhaustion prevailing over your stubbornness.

Joel disappears down the hall without a word.

As you wait for him to return, you glance down at your hands, fingers numb and stiff from the cold. You sigh as you flex them slowly, revelling in the feeling of warm blood returning to your fingertips, chasing away the frost.

Joel enters the room a few moments later, a steaming mug of something warm in one hand and a thick blanket draped over his arm. He sets the mug on the coffee table with a gentle thud before unfolding the blanket and draping it over your form silently.

As he sits beside you, the smell of chamomile wafts from the tea on the table. The gesture comforts you, but it’s the faint trace of Joel’s scent clinging to the blanket that sends flutters through your stomach and heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Thanks” you murmur, your voice barely audible.

Joel doesn’t reply right away. His eyes remain on you, steady and watchful. You feel the weight of his concern, the way it hangs between you in the silence.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks finally, his voice gruff yet gentle. “The dreams?”

You shake your head, your defence nothing but instinct as your gaze drops to the swirling steam rising from your mug. “There’s not all that much to say. They come and go” you shrug.

Joel’s lips press into a firm line, his jaw tightening just enough to betray the way he’s not satisfied with your answer.

“Ain’t just comin’ and goin’ if they’re drivin’ you outside in this kinda weather” he argues, his raised brow prompting you for honesty.

He’s not wrong. Annoyingly, he rarely is. You huff a quiet laugh, though it lacks any humor.

“I just..” you sigh as the words catch in your throat, your voice faltering. You drop your eyes to your hands again, twisting them nervously in your lap.

But Joel doesn’t push. He waits, his steady presence giving you the space you need to gather your thoughts.

“The cold helps” you manage after a moment, the words tumbling out quietly. “It takes my mind somewhere else”

It’s all you can offer, hoping he understands.

Joel nods, the lines of his face softening ever so slightly. The silence that follows stretches between you both, charged with a certain sense of understanding.

“I get it, y’know” he says finally.

You meet his gaze, confusion clouding your features.

“Get why you keep it close” he clarifies, nodding towards the weapon still secured at your hip. “Hell, there was a time I couldn’t even sleep without a damn knife in my hand. Even behind these walls” he admits freely.

The lump that forms in your throat is almost unbearable. Joel isn’t a man who shares much, even after all the time you’ve spent living under the same roof and patrolling together. But when he does speak, it always matters, has reason. The weight of his words sit heavy between you both.

You reach for your tea, clutching the mug tightly between two cold hands. It’s still too hot, the heat biting at your palms, but you take a sip anyway. The warmth spreads through your chest, soothing the ache that blooms there.

“Thanks, Joel” you say softly.

He waves his hand, brushing your gratitude aside. “Don’t gotta thank me” he insists, his expression hardening as he seems to hesitate. “But promise me one thing..”

You meet his eye curiously over the rim of your mug, mid sip of your tea. Your fingers curl tightly around the porcelain as you nod your head, apprehensive of what he’s going to ask.

“Next time,” he starts, punctuating his words with a hard stare. “You wake me”

It’s not a request, it’s an order.

You open your mouth to argue, instinctively pushing back. “Joel, I can’t - ”

“Wake me.” he cuts you off, the firmness in his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

You lower the mug from your lips slowly, feeling the force of his gaze pin you in place. His concern is both overwhelming yet undeniably comforting.

“It’s not fair to you” you whisper, more so to yourself, but of course, Joel hears.

“You think I care about that?” he replies without hesitation, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees.

The way he looks at you is enough to make your breath catch.

“What I care about, is you - out there freezin’ your ass off thinkin’ you gotta deal with this alone“ he sighs, dropping his eyes to his feet. “You don’t”

His forehead creases into a familiar frown, an expression that when directed at you, makes you feel like you’re the most infuriating yet important thing in his world. The integrity of his words is enough to make your throat tighten again.

You look away, dropping your eyes to your fingers as they toy with a loose thread on his blanket. You try not to dwell on the way it smells like him, warm and familiar, and how this alone settles the unrest inside your head.

Of course, Joel is attuned to your every move, watching the way you carefully play with the thread as though it might pull loose all the walls you’ve spent months building.

Ever stubborn, you try to summon some form of protest, but before you can, you feel it - the warmth of his hand at your knee. It’s a small gesture, but it grounds you enough to quiet the turbulent chaos of your mind and leave nothing but him.

“I’ll be here. Every damn time” he says softly. “All you gotta do, is wake me”

For a long moment, you don’t say anything.

Any words you want to say are stuck somewhere between your chest and your throat. What you want to say is that you’re grateful. That you take comfort in his presence, that he takes away the fear just by being next to you.

Instead, you let your hand drift to his, resting it lightly on top of his fingers.

“Okay” you finally whisper.

Joel’s mouth lifts into a faint smile. “Okay” he echoes, the word carrying a sense of relief. He shifts slightly, his hand slipping from your knee, though his warmth lingers on your skin.

He clears his throat, glancing towards the window where the darkness of the night looms behind the glass.

“We should get some rest” he says quietly, cautious of breaking the fragile calm that has settled between you. “Patrol in the mornin’. Gonna be a long day”

Your eyes shift to the clock on the wall and your face falls into a grimace. He’s right, you’re both going to feel the effects of your fear induced insomnia. But still, the idea of going back to your room, battling with demons you don’t have strength to fight, fills you with unease.

Joel stands with a soft groan, offering you his hand just as he did outside on the porch. You simply watch him for a moment, before slipping your hand into his, fingers curling around his strong grip.

He pulls you to your feet gently and your eyes meet. A silent understanding passes between you, something raw and unspoken that makes your heart pang. You release his hand reluctantly as you steady yourself, and for a moment, neither of you move.

Joel swallows, glancing down the hallway before nodding his head the same way. “C’mon. Let’s get you settled” he says softly.

As you make your way up the stairs, Joel follows behind you closely. You note how deafening the creaking of the floorboards seem during the eerie stillness of the night - it’s no wonder you woke him if he already sleeps so scarcely.

When you finally reach your room, you linger in the doorway, unsure of what to say. Joel stands behind you in the hallway, equally at a loss for what comes next as the tension seems to thicken in the space between you.

“Get some rest” he says gently.

You nod, reluctantly taking your eyes away from him as you step inside your room. The blanket he’d given you is still wrapped around your shoulders, a piece of him that you cling to like a lifeline.

But as Joel turns to leave, something inside you twists - a sudden, desperate urge to keep him close, to have him keep the darkness away for just a little longer.

“Joel?” you call, his name leaving your lips before you can even think the stupid idea through.

He stops in his tracks, his brow furrowed as he turns back to you. “What darlin’?”

Darlin’

That word alone is enough to make your heart race, and if you weren’t already falling, it sends you tumbling over the edge.

Your words almost catch in your throat, but you force them out before you lose your nerve.

“Stay.. please, just stay” you whisper, so quietly you’re not sure he’ll hear.

His expression softens, the hard lines of his face melting into something unreadable. He doesn’t move, and for one terrifying moment, you fret that you’ve pushed too far, misread his concern.

But then, he slowly steps over the threshold into your room. His footing is tentative, almost as if it’s crossing the physical line between you both, one that’s not so easy to step behind again. He closes the door softly, waiting cautiously.

“You sure?” he asks, his voice low.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “Im sure”

Joel swallows, mirroring the way you nod your head as if it’s confirmation to himself that you’ve really just asked for this.

“Right, uh.. you go ahead n’ get yourself comfortable” he mumbles awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as he turns to give you a moment of privacy.

Your lips pull into a small smile, one of endearment as you drop the blanket from your shoulders onto the bed and shrug Joel’s jacket from your form. You place it gently on the chair in the corner of your room, turning to slip into bed as you notice Joel’s eyes on you again, holding you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

He crosses the room, his movements slow and deliberate, almost as if he’s giving you time to change your mind.

But you don’t. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to.

He sits on the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He hesitates to make any move, silence stretching between you both as he appears to be lost in thought.

“Joel?” you call softly, masking a smile.

“Huh?” he answers, a little unfocused.

You bite your lip to stifle a laugh, pulling the sheets tight around your form.

“You can lay down with me” you whisper, patting the empty space next to you.

“Right, yeah” he mumbles, rushing to slip off his boots before shifting to lay beside you. He reaches to turn off the lamp, and the room is swallowed by darkness.

The bed feels smaller with his broad frame beside you, but the way he fills the vast space that always feels so empty brings you unexpected comfort. You revel in the way you can feel his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest beside you.

“Thank you, Joel” you murmur, your voice quiet in the darkness.

He hums in response, a low, soothing sound. “Ain’t nothin’ to thank me for. Get some sleep”

The room falls quiet again and you find yourself focusing on the small details that offer you a sense of calm in this moment - the way Joel’s scent clings to your skin, how his steady breathing keeps you present. You begin to relax, knowing that fear can’t make its way to you tonight. There’s no room with Joel here.

Just as exhaustion begins to win, you feel the gentlest brush of his hand against yours. You don’t dare to move, unsure whether he’s even awake, or aware of what he’s doing. But when his fingers curl around yours like your hand is their home, you don’t pull away.

When sleep finally finds you, it’s deep and undisturbed, sparing you from the shadows that usually loom in the corners of your mind.

The early hours of the morning greet you with a warm light filtering through your curtains, slowly stirring you awake.

You open your eyes reluctantly, but for the most part you feel rested and content, until you register an unfamiliar warmth pressed against you.

Your breath catches as you realise you’re laying in Joel’s arms. His body is curved around yours, his face nestled against your shoulder and his arm draped protectively over your waist.

Your first reaction is to panic, to move before he realises that your bodies have been drawn together and left you so intimately intertwined through the night.

But part of you can’t bear the thought of moving, unable to deny that this is the kind of solace you fear you’ve always needed but not allowed yourself to seek from him until now.

You work to slow your breathing, not wanting to wake him so you can revel in it for just a little longer. And for a quiet, perfect moment, you let yourself feel his warmth seep into your bones, let the gentle rhythm of his breathing slowly rock your body in time with his.

It’s a moment that’s so tender you wish you could stay in it forever. But eventually, your rationale prevails over the ache in your chest. You convince yourself to let the moment end, to not allow yourself to get used to the feeling.

You tell yourself that Joel would never mean to embrace you in such a way, that he wouldn’t want to cross a line that’s so hard to retreat from.

And so, you gently ease yourself from beneath the steady weight of his arm, your touch lingering on his warm skin as you ignore the cold emptiness that greets you without his body pressed against you.

He stirs slightly as you pull yourself out of bed. He almost looks peaceful, the ever present frown on his face somewhat less pronounced.

You watch him quietly and can’t help but wonder what this all means to him. The way he’s there for you without question, and with stubborn defiance at that. Whether his heart also races at the simplest of touches, or if the comfort you find in his presence is returned.

Quietly, you grab a fresh set of clothes, stealing one last glance at him before slipping out of the room, the door clicking shut behind you.

You head towards the bathroom, promptly switching on the shower, not waiting for the water to heat before you step inside, allowing the shock of the cold water to clear your head.

When you exit the bathroom, you notice your bedroom door is open and that your bed is made.

The faint sound of movement downstairs catches your ear, and as you tread your way down the steps, your nose is met with the enticing smell of something sweet.

When you reach the kitchen you pause in the doorway, watching as Joel stands at the stove flipping pancakes. Your chest tightens at the sight of something so simple yet domestic.

“Morning” you greet him softly, breaking through the quiet.

He glances over his shoulder, his face softening at the sight of you. “Mornin’. Hope you’re hungry” he replies, nodding towards the pan.

You take a seat at the table, resting your chin in your hand as you watch him work with a content smile at your lips.

“Never took you for a pancake guy” you tease.

He chuckles, the sound deep and warm as he pours the last batch of batter into the pan.

“Ain’t usually. Sarah loved ‘em though. Guess makin’ them just stuck with me” he says thoughtfully.

The mention of his daughter stills you. Joel rarely talks about her, his grief something he keeps firmly locked away. The way he mentions her so casually to you now feels like you’ve broken past a certain level of trust, gained access to a part of him that very few can truly see.

“Well, she had good taste” you offer warmly.

Joel glances at you, a small smile at his lips as he exhales a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding.

When he finally brings the pancakes to the table, he settles into the chair across from you, his eyes finding yours carefully.

“Wanted to make sure you’re alright before we go headin’ off on patrol” he broaches the subject tentatively. “Long day ahead, you’re sure you can manage it?”

“Yeah, I uhh… actually ended up sleeping pretty well” you reassure, but there’s something about the way your eyes linger on him that you both can’t ignore.

There’s something different this morning, an energy that wasn’t there before. The ease you once had feels fragile, like it’s teetering on the edge of something neither of you are ready to confront.

You drop your eyes to your pancakes and take a bite to serve as distraction. They’re warm and soft, but far from perfect. The edges are slightly burned, but for some reason, it only makes them better knowing they were an act of care from Joel.

“These are.. not bad” you tease, your mouth lifting into a smirk as you cut another piece with the side of your fork.

Joel chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Not bad?” he repeats with a shake of his head. “That’s what I get for slavin’ over a hot stove?”

Your smile widens upon hearing the warmth in his laughter. “I mean, the edges are a little crispy. Could use some work” you shrug, raising your brow playfully.

“Ain’t ever heard gratitude like it” he huffs with a laugh, his smile tugging at something deep inside you.

The room fills with your shared laughter, an easier rhythm falling back in place between you. The tension doesn’t dissipate, but shifts into something lighter, something you don’t feel the need to run from.

When your plates are finally empty, Joel rises from the table with a grunt, gathering the empty plates before you can object. He steps towards the sink, steam rising from the running water as he washes the dishes silently.

You watch him from your seat, your eyes trailing over the broad expanse of his shoulders. You admire the way his shirt stretches across his back, how his muscles flex as he moves. Your gaze shifts lower, to the strong lines of his forearms, his skin tanned and dusted with faint scars.

The heat that spreads through your veins catches you off guard, a sudden desire warming low in your stomach. You force yourself to look away, biting the inside of your cheek.

Once the dishes are finally clean, Joel dries his hands on a dish towel, turning to lean against the counter. His eyes soon find yours, and this time, what lies in his expression is something deep, something warm.

The kind of look that makes your pulse quicken and your heart trip over itself.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice quiet.

You fidget in your seat, nervous under his watch. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

Joel shrugs, his eyes never leaving yours. “Just makin’ sure. You still hungry?”

His unwavering concern hits harder than it should. It’s yet another reminder of who he is, someone who cares deeply, even when he tries to hide it.

“I’m good, Joel. Really” you say softly. You offer him a smile, but your hands feel unsteady, your skin too warm under his careful scrutiny.

The silence that follows leaves no room to ignore the way the air between you feels charged, like a storm waiting to break. You notice the way his hands grip the edge of the counter, his knuckles whitening under the strain.

Joel clears his throat, his voice rougher now as he pushes off the counter. “We should get movin’. Got a long route today”

“Yeah, sure” you nod, standing from your chair and slotting it back in place under the table. But neither of you make any further attempt to leave.

You glance in his direction, your eyes following the line of his tensed jaw. He looks like he’s on the verge of saying something, his lips parting slightly before he stops himself, chest rising with a breath he doesn’t seem to release.

You can see the same torment in his eyes that mirrors the noise inside your head, a war waging between doing what he wants to do and just how much he’s holding back.

You can’t take it anymore.

“Joel-“ you whisper, your voice softer than you’d intended, but the weight of the moment makes you feel so small.

His name on your lips sounds like a quiet admission, and any resolve he’s clung to shatters in an instant.

Joel’s eyes darken, and before you can process what’s happening, he’s moving towards you.

“Goddamn it darlin’” he breathes.

He closes the distance with a sense of urgency, his hands quickly finding your face, fingers achingly gentle as he tilts your chin upwards.

Your breath catches in your throat, your stomach swirling with apprehension as he pauses for the briefest moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

But of course, he finds none.

The moment his lips touch yours, the noise in your head stops.

His kiss is slow, a quiet surrender to everything he’s been holding back. You sigh softly against his lips as your hands rest against his chest, fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing that’ll keep you steady.

Joel deepens the kiss, his fingers combing through your hair before cradling the back of your neck as his mouth moves against yours with a tenderness that leaves you breathless.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead presses gently against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your skin.

“Been meanin’ to do that” he murmurs, eyes falling closed like it will prevent the moment from ending.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your hands still gripping his shirt, equally as unwilling to let go of him.

“Took you long enough” you tease, though your voice wavers.

His lips twitch into the faintest smile, a hand moving to brush lightly at your waist.

“Had to make sure I wasn’t imaginin’ this” he confesses, pulling back to meet your eyes. “You’ve got no idea how hard it’s been.. holdin’ back”

“Then don’t” you whisper, the words trembling as they leave your lips.

His eyes soften in a way that makes your stomach flutter as he pulls you closer, the solid warmth of his body against yours seeming to set every nerve ending in your body alight.

Joel leans forward to capture your lips again, but this time it’s different. The kiss is more urgent, more desperate than before as his fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the connection with the slide of his tongue against yours.

A soft moan leaves your lips, a sound that Joel acknowledges with a gentle sweep of his thumb over your jaw.

His hand slips to your hip, steadying you as he guides you backwards to the kitchen table. Without breaking the kiss, his hands drop to wrap around your thighs, his grip strong and somewhat rougher as he effortlessly lifts you to sit on the table's edge.

Your breath hitches against his lips as your arms wrap around his shoulders to steady yourself, your fingers quickly finding the soft hair that drapes at the nape of his neck.

You part your knees to accommodate his broad frame, allowing him to slip between your legs and pull your bodies close once more.

Joel’s lips leave yours, giving you a chance to catch your breath as his mouth trails along your jaw. His lips find your neck, his breath warm against your skin as the soft scrape of his stubble sends a shiver through your limbs.

“Shit, Joel” you breathe, your voice wavering as your eyes fall closed.

He lets out a low hum in response to the sound of his name falling from your lips, the noise a soft vibration against the skin beneath your jaw.

The fire lit in your stomach only burns warmer when his hand falls between your bodies, his fingertips brushing lightly against the waistband of your jeans.

Your heart races as he slowly pulls his lips away from your neck, meeting your eye with a look filled with desperate need.

“We.. we need to get to patrol” you stammer breathlessly, though every fibre of your being feels set alight by an insatiable need to keep his hands on your body, his lips on your skin.

Joel rests his forehead against yours with a sigh, his breathing laboured as it fans against your face, the deep, guttural sound of each gasp for air sending your mind into a frenzy.

His eyes flicker to where his hand still hovers above the button of your jeans, the only obstacle between you both crossing into completely uncharted territory.

“Tell me to stop” he pleads, unable to tear himself away. The hand at your waist tightens, a bruising grip against your skin. “You tell me to stop darlin’, and I will”

You swallow apprehensively, then shake your head, your fingers threading back through his hair desperately. “Don’t stop” you whisper.

Joel exhales sharply, the control he’d been keeping under wraps slipping away as soon as the confirmation passes your lips that you want this too.

He makes quick work of undoing the button of your jeans, his fingers sinking below the fabric while bypassing your underwear to finally find themselves at the place you’re aching for him most.

Your mouth parts with a sharp gasp, his fingers trailing slowly towards the desire that sits waiting for him between your legs.

“Goddamn,” he groans. “Baby, you feel like heaven” he murmurs as his fingers glide through the wet mess at your centre, dragging up to rub agonisingly slow circles over your clit.

“Oh fuck, Joel” you moan quietly, your head falling forward against his shoulder as you feel heat begin to creep through your body.

His hand leaves your waist to tilt your chin, desperate to read the response in your eyes. “You sure about this?” he asks, his voice low as he searches for any sign of doubt on your features.

“Yes, yeah I’m sure… please Joel,” you whimper, your eyes pleading with him to touch you, to make you his.

His jaw hardens, his hand quickly falling from your face to grip the waistband of your jeans. He tugs at the material as you shuffle at the end of the table to allow him to pull them impatiently from your form, quickly discarding them to the floor.

Instinctively, your legs go to fall closed, feeling overly exposed to him now. His hand falls between your thighs before you can shut him out, prying you open for him as he steps back between your legs.

“I got you darlin’,” he breathes softly, his hand moving right back to your centre, teasing two thick digits at your aching hole.

The wait is agonising, your skin prickling with an uncomfortable heat, until finally, he pushes his fingers inside your warmth with a sharp intake of breath.

In one simple move you’re ruined. There’s no going back from this, no world you can face if you don’t get to feel him this way.

You moan against his chest as he draws his hand back torturously slowly, before curling his fingers back inside you with perfected skill.

“Jesus baby, you’re soaked” he whispers against your ear, his movements picking up a steady rhythm.

You writhe on the edge of the table, panting as you pathetically buck your hips to meet the thrust of his fingers in an attempt to feel him deeper, to take him harder.

“Easy darlin’,” he soothes. “”Gonna a give you everythin’ you need”

Joel fucks you a little faster with his fingers, stilling only to add a third once your cunt is slick enough to take more.

You whimper in response to the stretch, squeezing gently around his fingers as he presses his thumb hard against your clit.

“That what ya needed, huh baby? For me to stretch this pretty hole so you can take my cock?” he murmurs.

“Fuck” you pant, a rush of heat surging to your cunt in response to his words.

Your face twists as he works you towards unravelling the warm, tight knot that pulses where his fingers meet.

“Need to hear you say it darlin’, tell me how you’re dyin’ to feel me” he pleads.

“Want it Joel, shit” you gasp, your head falling back as his fingers curl deeper, beckoning your impending orgasm closer and closer. “Thought about it for so long” you let slip, not even caring for the heat that warms your cheeks at the admission.

The sound that leaves his throat is deep and pained, a primal grunt as he pulls his fingers from your core. His hand wraps gently around your neck, your chin cupped over his thumb as he forces you to meet his eye, his expression tortured.

“Want me to show you, hmm?” he snarls. “Show ya what it’s like to be stuffed fulla my cock?”

Your head clouds as he punctuates his need with a squeeze of his hand, a sigh stifling its way past your lips.

“Please” you whisper. One simple word.

As if you’ve flicked a switch, his hold on your neck disappears. His hands drop to fumble impatiently with his belt buckle, tugging it free from his waist. He stares at you for a beat, a silent exchange that tells you he needs your hands on him, needs you to confirm exactly what you want.

You rush to find the zipper on his jeans, tugging it down with shaking hands before you shrug the stiff denim down to his thighs.

The sigh that leaves Joel’s lips is one of relief as his cock springs free, aching and needy to feel you.

He takes a tentative step forward, his hands forming a tight grip on the flesh of your hips, pulling you closer towards him as his hard length rests against your inner thigh.

That small contact alone is enough to send the most sinful flutter through your stomach, your arms finding home around his neck again as you lift yourself from the table slightly to grind your hips forward needily.

“Need you to fuck me, Joel” you whisper, peering up at him through hooded lids.

His jaw squares, exhaling sharply as he moves a hand to fist his cock, dragging his hand along his length before nudging it at your entrance.

He pushes his hips forward, slowly edging his way inside the wet, inviting warmth of your cunt. The way your breath hitches mirrors his, each of your mouths falling open at the feeling.

“Christ, baby. So fuckin’ tight” he hisses through clenched teeth, the hands that hold your hips tightening around your soft skin.

The stretch is enough to make you light-headed, a delicious sting at your centre that only serves as further fuel to the fire simmering in your belly.

Joel pulls his hips back with a low moan, his hands moving to cup under your ass, lifting you from the table to bounce you down onto his cock with a sharp thrust.

“Shit” you gasp, one hand slipping from his shoulder to brace the edge of the table as he bares your weight, fucking into you now with panted breath.

“Livin’ up to those dirty lil thoughts you've been havin’ darlin’?” he whispers against your neck, the way his breath tickles below your ear sending a carnal shiver down your spine.

You bite your lip, too turned on to be embarrassed by his knowledge of your long lived lust for him. You moan softly against his shoulder as he rolls his hips into you, his length nudging against the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach.

“Gotta know what that pretty head of yours has been thinkin’.. you think about takin’ my cock like this, huh?” he drawls, his eyes dark with a need that he meets with every unrelenting, forceful pull of your hips into his that buries his cock deep in your warmth.

“Fuck” you manage through a broken moan. “Been thinking about you bending me over this table the whole time we were eating breakfast” you confess, your eyes falling to his lips in an attempt to hide from the admission.

Joel’s hips abruptly come to a stop, a pained sigh leaving your lips at the lack of movement. You look at him questioningly, your brows pinching together as you roll your hips forward in a bid to feel some friction between your thighs.

He sets you back down on the edge of the table, his expression stern as his tight grip on your hips pins you in place, restricting the desperate writhing of your hips.

“Joel, why-”

The words on your lips are cut short as he pulls his cock from inside you without warning, pulling you down from the table with a sharp gasp. He spins you in place and in one quick movement has you bent over, your torso pressed to the cold wood, wrists captured behind your back in the tight grip of his hand.

Before you can even register the emptiness you feel without him inside you, his cock invades your hole again, pushing into you and resuming the quick pace of his thrusts.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl” he growls, the sound of his skin slapping against yours filling the room.

You whimper softly, the new angle providing you with everything you need to chase the release your body is burning for.

“Gettin’ what you wanted, sweet girl?” he grunts, the words rasped between short breaths. “This what you think about when you’re not sleepin’, wishin’ your fingers were my cock?”

You nod your head, your cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. “Always.. always think about you” you breathe, the words tumbling out of you with a moan.

“Shit. You keep makin’ those pretty noises darlin’… that’s it, I gotcha” he groans, his hand slipping between your legs to press his rough fingers at your clit.

You feel yourself on the brink of coming undone, every stroke of Joel’s cock paired with the slow circling of his fingers pushing you closer to tumbling over the edge.

The fluttering tell of your cunt steals a moan deep from Joel’s chest. He picks up the pace of his thrusts with a steeled jaw, the table legs scraping noisily against the tiled floor as he rocks you against it unrelentingly.

“Goddamn it, if ya keep squeezin’ me like that baby, I ain’t gonna last” he murmurs.

All you can do is take what he has left to offer, your mind barely coherent to his words as you begin to feel the tight pressure deep in your core threatening to burst, your limbs slowly creeping with a heat that trickles all the way to your neck.

“Fuck - Joel, don’t stop, I’m gonna - ”

You’re cut off with a sob, your orgasm leaving you a whimpering mess beneath him. You fight to stay standing as your legs tremble, but Joel’s steady grip at your waist keeps you rooted on his cock, never missing a beat.

“Good girl, I gotcha. Shit, feel so fuckin’ tight” he groans, fighting to keep his pace steady as he nears his own high.

Your knees threaten to buckle, your limbs numb and lifeless after the waves of pleasure ebb away, your attention shifting back to the delicious friction between your legs.

Joel’s deep, ragged breathing sounds from behind you, his slowing thrusts telling you he’s close.

“Gonna come baby, fuck” he groans, gripping his length as he leaves you empty, unloading his spend over his fist.

You wish more than anything to be able to see him, the carnal sounds that leave his lips as he comes enough to warm your belly with another simmer of desire.

For a moment, it’s quiet, save for the way you both fight to catch your breath. You stand up when you hear Joel’s footsteps wander in the direction of the sink, rushing to redress.

You sit back against the table, your eyes on the floor as Joel returns to you, his hand dropping to part your legs, his frame slipping between them once more.

The air between you is cooler now, the tension dissipated, leaving room for something more gentle. His hands find your waist, his grip softer now as his fingers trace delicately over the skin below your shirt.

His forehead leans to rest against yours, the tenderness he holds you with now silencing the torment of your mind.

“You okay?” Joel asks, his voice quiet.

You nod, a soft smile pulling at your lips. “I’m okay” you whisper. “Are you?”

Joel exhales a short, breathy laugh, his hand lifting to brush your hair from your face. “More than okay, darlin’” he smiles.

Neither of you moves to pull away, your fingers smoothing the rumbled fabric of his collar. “We should probably - ”

“Patrol. Tommy’s gonna kick my ass” he groans, holding his palm out to help you down from the table.

You laugh softly as you regain your footing, the worry that knits Joel’s eyebrows together fixing an endeared smile to your face.

“Worth it though, right?” you smirk.

Joel’s eyes find yours, the warmth they hold unmistakable.

“Without a fuckin’ doubt”

@joeldjarin @bbyanarchist @cuteanimalmama @jovl-millvr @missladym1981 @mellymbee @picketniffler @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pattwtf @ashleyfilm @goodvibesonly421 @justajoelsreader @pedritospunk

[dreamtofus]

WILL YOU SHUFFLE ME, SPREAD ME APART?

summary: in the slums of zaun, you’ve carved out a life for yourself which not many would envy. you spend your nights in the arms of strangers, trading coin for hasty touches and labored breaths. and since such a line of work isn’t always enough to keep yourself fed and clothed, you have a second service to offer: fortune telling. 

or... two times vi comes knocking, and a third time you let her in.

18+ only! smut below. cw for fingering (r! receiving), cunnilingus, mentions of sex work, brief mentions of blood. 7k words.

The heels of your boots click against damp cobblestone, wet thumps echoing through the dingy alleyway leading to Babette’s brothel. It’s a particularly humid night, even despite the chill in the air - the humidity makes it worse, you think. It feels like the cold is seeping into the very marrow of your bones. 

You pull your cloth coat tighter over your torso, thankful when you rap on the brothel’s wooden door and are allowed in almost instantly. One step through the threshold, and the biting cold melts like early-spring snow. The air is thick here, too, but warm and smoky. Tobacco stings sweet in your nose, a cocktail of too-strong perfumes mixing with ribbons of incense that linger suspended midair. It’s an intoxicating kind of smell, one that makes weak women and weaker men feel more inclined to spend their hard-earned coin on a night with a stranger. 

Part of you is hoping none will choose you tonight. It’s not that you’re opposed to it - gods know you’d be in the wrong line of work if you were. Rather, you’ve got plans to eat the meager dinner you’ve purchased for yourself, sip some red wine, and rifle through your cards for answers about what’s been going on topside lately. You’ve heard murmurs of an attack, rebellion… You’re not exactly sure what to believe, so as you often do, you look to the cards for clarity. 

The deck sits idly by a thicket of half-burnt herbs on your desk, stacked precariously where you’d last used them. You shed your coat and hang it on a brass hook by the desk, then slide into the seat in front of it. Still thawing, you sink into the velvet cushion and reach into your knapsack for the paper-wrapped sandwich inside, also procuring an unmarked bottle of wine from beside it. You’re wiping an iron goblet clean with the fabric of your tiered skirt when a familiar voice calls your name from the doorway. It’s one of the other workers here, Nina. She’s been here just about as long as you.

“You might hate me,” she says, a preface that makes your lips turn downward in a frown. 

You grunt, uncorking your wine and pouring a hearty serving into your goblet. By the sounds of it, you’ll need the liquid courage. “I just sat down, you know.”

Nina’s delicate brows pull together; maybe she’s feeling apologetic, or maybe she’s just laying it on thick so you’ll take a job before you’ve even had dinner. 

“I thought so, but… I think you’ll like her, peach.” She pauses for a beat. “And if you take her, I may have some chocolate I’d consider parting with.”

“Bribery,” you say, a grin pulling at your lips as you roll your eyes at Nina’s offer. “But fine. Send her in.”

“Will do, peach,” Nina practically squeals, disappearing from your doorway just as quickly as she’d come. 

Cursing under your breath, you take a swig of wine and turn to the tarnished mirror behind your desk, examining yourself. By some stroke of luck, you’d had the sense to put on a layer of makeup before you’d gone out earlier. Blemishes are covered, your eyes are rimmed with kohl, and a smear of rouge emphasizes the pouty shape of your lips. That’s all you ever need, paired with the eye-catching swell of your breasts against the low-cut linen of your blouse. This will be easy enough.

You’ve drained half the wine in your cup by the time your client knocks at the open door. You turn your head to greet her and, before you can get a word out, the door slams closed with a heavy thud. At first, you gawk at the client because of her notable entrance - but then, you gawk because Nina was right. You like her.

This girl looks like the undercity chewed her up, spit her out, then chewed her up again. She’s all sharp edges and leather and lipstick, black makeup smeared from her eyes to her cheeks. Her hair’s black, too, though you can see patches of red exposed from an uneven dye job and a few heavy-handed washes. She’s certainly achieved the menacing look she’s sought out, and though it’s a mighty contrast to her pale complexion and piercing blue eyes, it somehow works for her - she’s the kind of girl you wouldn’t mind getting dirty for. 

“Good evening,” you say, because it’s all you can seem to think of to break the silence. “Would you like a drink?”

The client surveys you up and down with those icy blue eyes, working her jaw. She nods. “What do you have?”

“Wine, whiskey, gin,” you tell her, gesturing to the makeshift bar cart beside a loveseat at the entrance of your suite. Different colored liquors fill antique, mismatched bottles at different levels. The client glances over at them, steps up to the cart and surveys that, too. Then she turns to you, gestures to your goblet.

“I’ll have what you’re having.” 

You nod. “Wine it is, then. Have a seat, I’ll bring it to you.” 

She obliges, lowering herself onto the plum fabric of the loveseat. Her legs are spread just so - enough to make it obvious that this woman is used to taking up space, and unafraid of what that kind of confidence might imply. Your eyes linger on her parted knees, but not long enough to get caught. After you fill up a goblet for her and refill your own, you glide across the room to hand her the drink. She accepts it with a nod of thanks, her fingertips brushing against yours in the process. You take a seat beside her.

“What’s your name?” You regard her behind fluttering lashes, sipping from your freshly filled goblet. The wine is sweet on your tongue, bitter around the edges. You can already feel it loosening your muscles, relaxing your inhibitions. Piquing your curiosity, even. 

The client takes a swig from her own drink and says, “Vi.” 

Vi. Her name is tattooed on her cheekbone, you muse, gaze sweeping over her face once again. There’s a silver hoop pierced through her nose, a scar etched into her upper lip. A healing bruise on her left jaw catches your eye, blooming faint shades of purple, yellow, and green. You’re afflicted with an urge to reach out and touch it - to touch her. But when she catches your gaze with those steely eyes of hers, you’re frozen. Like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar, your cheeks flush hot. Vi seems amused by your appraisal, cracks a smile that looks somehow natural on her war-torn face. 

She cuts through the tension like a spearhead, one hand reaching forward to readjust the sleeve of your blouse, which had fallen down your shoulder. Her fingertips are cold and calloused, but the touch fills you with uncharacteristic warmth. “What’s your name?” 

You tell her and she repeats it, that sultry voice curling around every syllable of your name as if she were tasting it. 

However intoxicating Vi’s voice might be, it dawns on you again what she’s doing here. She’d paid for your time, paid to sip your wine and touch you with those split-knuckled hands of hers. You have the sense to wonder why - a woman like Vi should have no trouble warming her bed for free, yet here she is.

“Well, Vi,” you say, pausing briefly for another sip of wine, “how do you want me?”

If your straightforwardness bothers her, she doesn’t show it. She brushes dark locks of her out of her eye-line, seemingly considering your answer. Then: “I heard you tell fortunes.”

You quirk a brow at her. “I—yes. Is that what you want?”

Something flashes in her eyes. “Among other things.”

“It’s extra for that,” you clarify. “The fortune-telling, I mean.”

“I have enough.”

And that settles it. You uncross your legs, stand up and move to retrieve your deck of cards from the desk. There’s a table in front of the loveseat where Vi still sits, and that’s where you lay out an ornate silk cloth to spread the cards upon. You gather the thicket of herbs from your desk, too, along with a match. Vi watches you set fire to the sprigs, a stream of smoke billowing upwards and filling the air with a sweet, earthy scent. 

“What questions do you have?” You ask, settling down upon a floor pillow on the opposite side of the table from Vi. After you set down your goblet of wine, you pick up the deck and begin to shuffle; the fluttering sounds of cards fills the silence before Vi can answer.

“Do I need to ask questions?”

“No, I guess not,” you respond, shoulders shrugging. “I can just see what the cards say about you.”

Vi nods her assent, tossing her head back to finish what’s left of her wine. One by one, cards fly out from the deck as you shuffle, some upright, some inverted. When you’ve circulated through the deck once or twice with no other cards presenting themselves, you stop. 

“Five of cups,” you read aloud. The card’s illustration depicts a figure in a black cloak, turned away, three emptied cups at her feet. Behind her are two upright cups, unnoticed. “Loss. Mourning.”

Vi inhales sharply through her nose, and when you look up at her, she’s white-knuckled with her hand around the stem of her now-empty goblet. You lift your brows in a wordless question - should you continue? 

She nods.

“Something didn’t work out as you’d planned it, and you’re too stubborn to let go. Instead, you lament the loss and let it hold you hostage.” 

There’s a sound like Vi humming, a quiet acknowledgement of your words as you move to the next card. 

“Four of wands, reversed - this tells me you’ve been separated from loved ones. This is what didn’t work out as planned, maybe?” 

When you look at Vi this time, she’s leaning forward in her seat, forearms braced against her strong thighs. 

“Maybe,” she echoes. “What else is there?”

You show her the next card, another inverted one. The illustration depicts a man in ornate clothing, a flower plucked between his fingers as he prances confidently towards the edge of a cliff. “The fool, reversed.” 

“That’s me?” Vi asks. “The fool?” 

“Hm, not always. But with the other cards… You are the fool, Vi, I’m sorry to say it.” You hope she catches the tinge of playfulness in your tone, serious as the reading feels. Heavy as the tension feels.

“Well,” she starts, “the cards don’t lie, I guess.”

You hum in agreement. “The fool, reversed this way, tells me that you’re reckless. Lacking caution, you’ve opened yourself up to betrayal.” 

“Fuck’s sake.” Vi laughs without humor, tries to drink the last crimson drops of the wine in her goblet. “Can I get some more?”

You move to get up and fetch her the bottle, but she waves a hand to dismiss you. She’s up and across the room in a flash, refilling her cup and taking a swig before she’s even made it back to the loveseat. 

“But…” You hold up her final card - judgement. The art depicts an angel blaring into a trumpet from the heavens, the humans below rejoicing. Her eyes assessing the card, Vi looks to you for an explanation.

“Judgement tells us that renewal and transformation is possible,” you finish

“Renewal, transformation... Right. What’s the catch?”

Smart woman, you think. There’s always a catch. 

“You have to be willing to let go of what’s held you stagnant. Accept what’s behind you and focus on what’s ahead, because wallowing in misfortune does you no good.”

That seems to resonate, because Vi’s expression turns shadowy, thoughtful. She drinks again, her lips nearly purple from the wine. You take a moment to drink from your own cup, ready to ask Vi if she wants you to undress yourself, or if she’s the kind of client who wants to do it for you. 

Instead, you’re stunned into silence when she polishes off her drink, slams the cup down onto the table, and stands. Her jaw is locked again, tense. 

“Vi?” Your brows lift in question. 

“Thank you,” she says. She moves towards the door, then stops when she seems to remember something. One bandaged hand digs into her jacket pocket, emerging with a handful of coin. She places it on the nearest surface, a small table with a lamp glowing atop it, and only glances back towards you before she vanishes out the door. 

There’s a draft in the room, suddenly. You curl into bed, pull the covers over your goosebump-afflicted skin, and think.

The days following Vi’s visit dawn bleak and cold as ever. Nina asks about your client the following morning, and you let her bask in the satisfaction that you had liked her, but you politely break the news that she’d been nothing particularly special - a white lie to keep the questions at bay. You’re not one to run your mouth; besides, rumors spread through Babette’s brothel like wildfire. 

Some of the latest rumors? There’s a man with magical abilities lurking in the shadows of Zaun, with a touch that heals the sick. There’s a blue-haired revolutionary forming a significant following in the undercity, those of whom claim she’ll free them from Piltover’s brutality. You’re not sure what to believe, but there must be some truth to the rumors, because your cards sense something afoot: the tower, ten of swords, ace of cups. 

Still, business continues as usual. Degenerates and saints alike seek your company, and you need the money to survive, so your bed is always warm. 

Because you’ve had dozens of clients over the years who visit and never return, you don’t expect to see Vi again. Still, your mind keeps returning to her - you wonder why she’d stormed out so suddenly, why she’d paid you for sex without laying a finger on you. The curiosity lingers in the back of your mind, but you counter it with reality: she’d probably chickened out. Heard something too striking in her reading and couldn’t follow through, but decided to pay for your time anyway. At most, it was a kind gesture. 

So why can’t you stop thinking about her? 

Weeks pass, and your routine continues. Tonight’s another late night, and you’re relaxing after several clients in a row. You’d bathed in water treated with salts and oils, the scents still clinging to your skin as you rub salve into your aching muscles. The last few clients had been rough - twisting your limbs, working you into positions that tested your flexibility and endurance as they used their tongues, fingers, and other appendages to chase their pleasure through your body. None of them had made you come, though, so in the momentary solitude of the bath, you’d slipped your hand between your legs until your release pulsated through your tired frame. Now, you’re feeling pleasantly warm and at ease, perfumed and ready if there may be a late-night visitor. You’d be grateful for the extra money, if you’re being honest.

When there’s a steady knock at the door, you saunter over to answer it in nothing but your lingerie, lacy black and surprisingly comfortable. Who knows? They might pay extra for such ease of access - and a nice presentation. 

The flirty smile on your lips disappears when you realize who’s on the other side of the door. 

“Gods—Vi?” You try not to express your shock, schooling your features to the best of your ability. Vi, however, turns a pretty shade of pink when she takes in the sight of you: tits pushed together and decorated in delicate lace, the soft hair over your sex barely obscured with thin fabric. Your thighs are plush and glowy with moisture, hips hugged beautifully by the high-waisted panties that match your elaborate bra. 

Vi’s throat bobs with a hard swallow. “I’m… Sorry to interrupt.”

“You weren’t interrupting,” you assure her, opening the door all the way to allow her entry. You try to ignore the way her gaze first moves to the empty bed, something like relief washing over her features before she turns back to you. The door shuts with a soft click. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I thought you were a client.”

After wrapping yourself in the first robe you find by your bedside, you move to the bar cart to pour Vi a drink. She scoffs, an almost-laugh that’s low and soft. “Well, I am a client.”

As the wine sloshes into her goblet, you fix her with an admonishing look. “A client looking for sex, Vi.” 

That shuts her up. Her cheeks are still pink, you notice, as you take in her appearance: most of the dye has faded out of her hair, leaving it a patchy canvas of black, maroon, and fuschia. She’s still sporting a cut and a bruise here and there, but more wounds are covered with bandages than last time. Notably, she’s not drenched in black paint, though there is a ring of liner around her eyes. 

“Thanks,” Vi says when you hand her a cup of wine. She shoots back a mouthful and moves to the loveseat, lowering herself into the same spot as last time.

“So?” You arch a brow at her. “Here for another reading, I take it?”

She nods. “Yeah, sweetheart. If that’s okay.”

“I thought I scared you away last time,” you reply with a smirk. There’s a hint of truth to the statement, though, teasing as you might be - you hadn’t expected to see her back so soon, if at all. 

“Oh, you did,” she admits. “But things have changed, and now… I’m curious what you have to say. I could use some advice.”

“Your wish is my command.” 

Just as it was last time, Vi’s attention is honed in on you. You shuffle the cards with expert precision, and she watches the way your hands dance over the deck, fingers grazing the careful illustrations of each card with easy familiarity. This time, five cards leap from the deck: seven of cups, the chariot, eight of wands, four of wands, eight of pentacles. It’s a story unfolding beneath your fingertips, all the more interesting when you think back to Vi’s last reading.

“You’ve made progress,” you tell her. “But the hard work isn’t over. You’re prone to wishful thinking, which is a good thing, sometimes, because your determination is a powerful force.” 

Glancing up at Vi, you offer her an encouraging smile. “When you fight, I get the sense that you almost always win.”

Vi snorts, wiping a burgundy smear of wine from her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s what the cards say?”

“Not exactly, but, well… I’ve gathered some things for myself.” You hold up the chariot card. “This one tells me you need an ironclad will to move forward. One I don’t doubt you have.”

Is it just your imagination, or does Vi turn pink again?

“And these,” you say, holding up the two cards from the wand suit, “show me fire. Creation, destruction, volatility. You’re dealing with something that can be useful or detrimental, depending on how you proceed.”

Vi’s eyes are alight, not unlike the fire you’ve just discussed. What you wouldn’t give to know how her life aligns with these cards - what fire is she playing with? What challenges is she facing?

“And the last one?” Vi’s voice cuts through your internal musings as she gestures to the final card on the table. You pick it up and show it to her - the eight of pentacles, depicting a man hard at work, hammer in hand.

“It’s very much in line with the others,” you explain. “Diligence, focus, hard work.”

She hums, nodding. “Got it. So, any chance there's a card that’ll tell me what I should do?”

Her tone drips with sarcasm, but you can tell there’s a glimmer of sincerity in the question - and in those pale blue eyes, swirling with emotion. 

You press your lips into a firm line, setting the eight of pentacles card down. “I wish I could tell you exactly what you want to hear, Vi,” you say honestly. “But that’s not how the cards work.”

“Yeah,” Vi responds, voice bitter around the edges; somber. “I figured as much. Thank you, uh, for the reading.”

In the silence that follows, you imagine a braver version of yourself: one that isn’t too hesitant to ask questions. One that would feel comfortable offering a listening ear to this riot of a woman, whose scars and bruises tell you just as much as the cards you’ve splayed out for her. You wonder where she goes after she leaves here, if that home holds a family, friends, a lover. But all you can do is wonder. You don’t go sniffing for information - like the brothel dweller you are, information finds you. And if it doesn’t, perhaps it’s better to wonder.

Vi rises from the loveseat, readjusting one of the tattered blankets strewn across its surface. She finishes the remainder of her wine and, gently, sets it on the table. 

She says, “I’ve gotta go.”

Her hand dips into her jacket pocket and emerges with far too much coin, which she sets out on the table for you.

“That’s too much,” you counter with a furrowed brow. “We didn’t—you only had your cards read.”

You reach forward to collect the extra cash, ready to push it back into Vi’s palm, but she backs away with her hands in her pockets. 

“Nah, sweetheart,” she replies, ambling towards the door and prying it open. “Keep the change.”

The next time you see Vi, her knuckles are bleeding. 

It’s been weeks, maybe even months, and you’re surprised to find her at your door again, much less in her current state: battered and bruised, her knuckles raw and red. Her shoulders sag, that proud, confident air about her entirely deflated. She’s a shell of the woman you’d first met months ago; all that brazen confidence she’d once had has burnt down to dying embers. 

When she looks at you, her eyes are forlorn, watery. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Oh, Vi…” You open the door further, ushering her in with a gentle hand at the small of her back. 

Inside, you pour her a drink - water, this time - and instruct her to lie down on the bed, draping a thin blanket over her frame. 

“You’re hurt,” you say pointedly, gesturing to her bleeding knuckles. “Can I help?”

Vi’s expression doesn’t change; her eyes are distant, her skin so pale it’s almost grey. But she nods her assent, so you get to work - you swipe a wet cloth over her knuckles to clear away the blood, then cautiously apply a salve to her wounds. Through it all, Vi hardly even winces, a fact that doesn’t exactly surprise you. Even now, with her brazen confidence stripped away to the bone, she’s tougher than most. It’s an attribute that runs through her to the core. 

“Don’t you want to ask what happened?” Vi asks, suddenly. Her voice is raw, and to avoid looking her in the eye, you focus on wrapping her knuckles with layers of soft gauze. “Wanna know how I fucked up this time?”

You frown. “I’m not one to pry.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause before Vi speaks again. “That’s what’s different about you,” she says. “Everyone else just… Wants something from me.”

Brows knitting together, you fix Vi with a look that you hope reads less as pitying and more as understanding. You’re certainly familiar with catering to other’s desires over your own; it’s been this way for longer than you can remember. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, genuinely. Finished dressing her wounds, you let go of her hands, still kneeling at the side of the bed. You stand up with the intention of refilling Vi’s water, but as you reach for the cup, she catches your wrist in one bandaged hand. 

“All those times I saw you,” she starts, “when I had you read my cards… You never asked about my life.”

You nod, wrist burning from her touch. 

“Why? You never wondered?”

“It’s not my job to wonder.” You swallow. “Just to give people what they want.”

Vi’s gaze is intense, holding you in a trance. You’re frozen there, standing at the side of the bed, entirely in her grasp. “But do you ever get what you want?”

Do you?

You’d been working for Babette for years, longer than most - and before that, even as a child, you’d always understood that bending to the will of others is the easiest way to move through life. You can slip through the cracks that way, get enough coin or food or clothing to live another day. You wanted that, you suppose. To live. 

But you’re not sure that’s what Vi’s talking about.

“I have enough,” you say. “There’s not much I want.”

Vi nods. “But there’s something.” 

You smooth your free hand over hers, and she lets go of your wrist. “I’ll get you some water.”

As you refill her cup, you feel her eyes on you, and your mind races. Why does she care about what you want? You’re a stranger to her, a fortune teller living on scraps in an undercity brothel. First, she’d paid you for sex she’d never had, and now she’s in your bed, asking you questions you barely had the wherewithal to ask yourself. Gods, this woman is something else. You wish you could read her mind - crack open that beautiful skull of hers, sift through her thoughts, learn what had led her to you not once, not twice, but three times. You wish you could know everything about her, read her like your favorite book with its pages dog-eared, its cover well-worn.

Maybe that’s what you want, after all.

Returning to the bedside, you hand Vi her cup and stand by as she takes a long drink, then sets it on the nightstand. Her hair has grown a few inches since the first time you’d met her, you muse, and you like it this way - long locks of pink-crimson fall in jagged layers just past her shoulders, her bangs framing her face nicely. You wonder what it would feel like to reach out and run your fingers through that hair, to brush it free of knots, to hold the back of her head in your palm. 

“It’s late,” Vi says, interrupting your train of thought. “I should go - you should get some rest.”

She peels back the blanket you’d settled over her, sitting up. You hesitate, then reach forward to touch her forearm. “You can stay, I don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t want to keep you up,” Vi says, “or… Keep away any business.”

Something in your chest tightens. “You won’t.”

“I shouldn’t—”

“I want you to stay,” you interrupt. “You need rest, too.”

Vi’s mouth hangs open for a moment, stormy blue eyes assessing you. Then, she settles back into bed, pulling the blanket up over her chest again. There’s a long pause, only the muffled sounds of laughter and salacious moans from other rooms filling the silence. You’re debating setting yourself up on the loveseat when Vi murmurs a quiet hey to capture your attention, then pats the space beside her in bed.

There are candles still burning on desks and tables and dressers throughout the room, lamps shining in shades of yellow and orange. You’ll lie down for only a moment, you tell yourself, long enough for Vi to doze off. Then you’d turn off the lights, blow out the candles, maybe sneak off to find a client looking for a fortune teller. You sense that Vi needs someone beside her for now, though, so you climb into bed, wrapping your frame in a velvety purple blanket. 

Once you’ve settled in next to her, Vi turns on her side to face you. Her lips, rosebud pink, are chapped, and you watch her moisten them with a swipe of her tongue.

“Thank you,” she says, voice hushed. “For letting me stay here.”

I didn’t know where else to go.

You turn over to face her, too, the corners of your lips pulling upwards. “Of course. I’m glad you’re okay, Vi.”

There’s a softness in Vi’s expression, now - one that you hadn’t seen before. The tough facade has melted away, as has the hurt, the pain. All that’s left is her rounded, wide eyes, her relaxed jaw, the curve of her lips. You catch yourself staring too long, and when you look up again, Vi’s already watching you.

She raises a bandaged hand to your face, where it hovers an inch away. Her expression asks for permission, and when you lean into her touch, Vi’s hand cups your cheek with a gentleness you’d never think her capable of. Not with those scars, not with the cuts and bruises that have become a permanent fixture on her skin. Her thumb skates over your cheekbone, and the touch feels electric.

“You’re beautiful, you know.”

Your breath hitches; you hope she doesn’t notice.

“I’m sure you hear that a lot,” Vi adds. And it’s true, you do. 

You hesitate. Then: “Not from anyone who matters.” 

Vi smiles - it’s a soft kind of smile, one that you wish you could take a photo of, frame it and hang it on the wall to return to when you need a reminder of the warmth in this moment. Her hand leaves your cheek and travels down to your arm, then finding your hand beneath the blankets. Your eyes feel heavy, suddenly - so must hers, because she doesn’t speak again. You fall asleep next to her, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing, her hand warm and heavy in yours.

When you wake up again, the room is a dark, inky blue. 

You sit upright, back straight, memories of the night before slowly filtering into your mind. Half-expecting an empty space where Vi had once been, you glance to the side, finding her sleeping figure curled under the blankets. Chest tightening, you look down at her in the black dark, eyes straining. 

Her eyes open, lashes fluttering, and you gasp.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Did I wake you up?”

“I’m a light sleeper,” she murmurs back to you. One of her arms snakes around your waist, encouraging you to lie back, and you oblige. You’re closer than you were when you fell asleep, Vi’s steady breaths tickling at your shoulder. 

You’re suddenly very aware of her skin on yours; your shirt has ridden up your stomach in your sleep, and Vi’s arm, wrapped around you, burns against you. Your stomach is warm with something delicious, something dangerous.

It doesn’t help when Vi pulls you closer, palm opening against the flesh of your hip. You’re frozen for a moment, wondering if she’s still sleeping, somehow. 

“Vi?”

“Hm?” You feel her draw back, as if waiting for you to turn over, so you do. Eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, you peer up at her. 

“I think I know what I want.” 

Vi’s quiet, her gaze steady on you. You’re about to take it back, whisper never mind and turn to sleep again, when she brings her hand back up to your cheek, cupping it in her hand the same way she had the night before. 

“Tell me,” she whispers in the dark.

“I…” You hesitate. “I want you to touch me.”

There’s a long pause, Vi’s eyes flickering over your face, analyzing your expression. Your body is tense with anticipation, and when she finally, finally leans in to press her lips to yours, the tension seeps out of every muscle.

Like everything about her, Vi’s kiss is different - her touch is different. She holds your face as her lips move against yours, soft and wet and sweet, thumb stroking the soft skin of your cheek as her tongue traces the part of your lips. You open your mouth for her, let her lick into you to deepen the kiss. 

It’s been a long, long time since you’ve been kissed like this. You’ve grown accustomed to hasty, messy kisses, foul breath and rough touches, far too many clients eager to skip past the kissing and get to the fucking. But Vi tastes like heaven as she takes her time with you, tongue soft as it pushes against yours. Every kiss leaves you aching for more, the warmth in your lower belly growing hotter with each smack of your lips against Vi’s. You pull back, catching your breath, and Vi peers at you with bleary eyes. 

“You okay?” She asks, thumb still stroking at your cheek. You nod and pull her in for another kiss, drawing a soft moan from the bottom of her throat - one that goes straight to your cunt. 

You’re not sure how long you continue like that, trapped in a heated kiss, bodies moving closer with every languid sigh and pleading moan. But eventually, the layers of clothing between you is a burden you can no longer bear. You pull back to work your shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor before Vi tugs you close for another searing kiss. Your hands slip beneath the thin fabric of her tank, and she shivers, a full-body chill that makes you flush impossibly hotter. Once her shirt is discarded, too, Vi gently pushes you to lie flat on your back, climbing over you in nothing but a thin pair of shorts. You realize through the haze of lust clouding your mind that she must’ve woken up before you - she’d turned the lights off, taken off the stiff pair of pants she’d arrived in the night before. 

Hovering over you in the dark, Vi’s an absolute dream. Tattoos decorate her pale complexion, inked into her arms, her shoulders, her neck - you’d already noticed that she’s heavily inked, but it’s more striking when she’s half-naked like this. You don’t have much time to look, though, because Vi leans over to tuck her face into your neck, warm lips latching to the sensitive skin and littering kisses in an imprecise path. You keen high in your throat, leaning the opposite way to grant her more access, your hands finding purchase on her narrow hips. When you dig your nails into her skin, hissing as she parts her lips over your neck and sucks, her hips buck forward, grinding her thinly-clothed heat over your pelvis. You nearly see stars.

There’s always been a cold draft in your room, in the brothel, and in Zaun as a whole. But here, now, you’re on fire. You lift your hips and push Vi down against your pelvis again, encouraging her to find that friction again, and she emits a muffled moan against your neck when she does. It’s heavenly, that sound - you want to hear it again and again and again, until it’s forever etched into your memory. 

“Gods, Vi,” you gasp, her teeth scraping against your neck. She works her way further south, leaving kisses and bites in her wake, until she reaches the peaks of your breasts.

“You’re so pretty, fuck,” she murmurs, dazed. Both hands cup your tits and squeeze, her thumbs playing with the buds of your nipples until they’ve hardened from her touch. She then leans over to take one nipple into her mouth, moaning around the flesh as if she’d been dying for this. Her tongue draws wet circles over the sensitive bud, her cheeks hollowing out when she sucks at it until you’re gasping and writhing. You need her further down, where your cunt throbs and gushes in anticipation, but she takes her time with your other tit before she even considers undressing you further. 

Still straddling your waist, Vi sits up and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She flashes you a wicked smile, eyes twinkling, and lifts her hips to reach for the waistband of your shorts.

“This okay, pretty girl?” 

You nod, biting your lip. Pretty girl.

Vi rolls your shorts down your thighs, pulls them off with ease and sets them to the side. Your panties are next - a simple, cotton pair that wasn’t anything flashy - and she tosses those to the edge of the bed, too distracted by the sight of your naked body to care much about where they landed. 

Typically, you weren’t shy about your body. In your line of work, you couldn’t be shy - you had to know your features and work them to your benefit. But with Vi eyeing you like you’re a meal and she’s a woman starved, your stomach flutters with excitement and, somewhere, a glimmer of insecurity. The need to impress her. 

And gods, does she seem impressed. She curses under her breath, her rough hands smoothing over the curves of your body, squeezing your hips and your thighs and your ass, licking her lips like she’s parched. You realize, as she settles her hands on your knees and works them apart for you, that she’d taken off her bandages, too. The thought evaporates as quickly as it had come, though, because now Vi’s settling between your spread legs, peppering kisses along the inside of your thigh.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” she tells you between kisses. “You gonna let me eat you out, sweetheart?”

The question sends another cascade of butterflies through your stomach. You take in a deep breath, enjoying the sight of Vi between your legs, looking up at you with pleading eyes. You might die if she doesn’t make you come soon.

A whispered “please” from your lips is all Vi needs - her mouth is on you in a moment, tongue splitting through your folds, warm and firm and wet. She licks at you languidly, takes her time spreading your arousal from your hole up to your clit. You’re drenched, you just know it, and Vi moans as if to confirm your suspicions, lapping up your wetness with every flick of her tongue. Just like she’d taken her time with her mouth on your tits, she takes her time with your cunt, sucking on the swollen bead of your clit until you’re whining her name between sharp breaths. It’s all you can manage to say, your hand tangled in her scarlet locks of hair, tugging at her scalp each time she circles your clit with her tongue. After she’s worked you up enough, you’re suddenly so empty - you need more, and you tell her as much, chest heaving.

“Vi, I need—fuck, I need your fingers,” you cry out.

She answers with a gratified hum, and the vibrations have your eyes rolling back into your skull.

Just as you’d asked, though, Vi swipes a finger through your wetness; there’s hardly any resistance when she sinks the digit into your entrance, groaning again at the feeling of your walls around her. 

“So wet for me,” she comments, grinning. “This what you needed?”

You nod, face twisting with pleasure. Vi just chuckles under her breath, working her fingers up to a steady pace. Once she has you moaning again, all high-pitched and needy, she latches her mouth back onto your clit, and you’re gone. You come hard, clamping down on Vi’s fingers and tossing your head back, eyes squeezed shut through every wave of pleasure - it’s only once you’ve come to that you finally open your eyes again, gazing down at Vi starry-eyed.

“Can I be honest, sweetheart?” She sits up on her heels, licking her lips. “That was hot.”

“You think so?” You ask, reaching out for her. She moves closer and kisses you, lets you taste yourself on her lips. 

You pull back only to murmur, under your breath, “I’m not done with you, Vi.”

You’ve had sex with plenty of women in your lifetime, but few have made a real effort to make you come - and none have done it so fast. You’re determined to return the favor. So, with a pointed glance, you instruct Vi to lie back on the pillows, plucking one from behind her to set under her hips.

Vi had called you beautiful, but she’s utterly divine. All sharp edges and lean muscle, she’s a vision, and you’re almost convinced you’re dreaming as your hands smooth over the tattoos inked into her arms. You imagine yourself tracing each of those tattoos with your mouth, sucking bruises into the dark ink - but you’d do that later. Right now, all you want is to bury your face in the patch of red hair between her legs, lose yourself in the taste of her arousal.

Vi’s vocal, you conclude, because as you prod your tongue inside of her, nose bumping against her clit, she won’t shut up. 

“That’s it, fuck, you’re so good,” Vi moans, sitting up enough to allow her to watch as you lap at her pink cunt. An endless chorus of praises and curses leave her lips, punctuated with wanton moans. She’s needy, too - before long, she’s gripping a fistful of your hair and directing you with it, tugging you closer, to the side, to the other side, as she grinds her cunt down against your mouth. You revel in the way she’s using you, pleased when her stomach tenses and your name spills from her lips, warning you of her impending orgasm. She rides it out on your face, and when you finally pull back, you’re wet with her from nose to chin. 

“You’re way too good at that,” Vi tells you when you crawl up beside her, rubbing the wetness off your nose. 

“You’re just as good,” you respond. You move to lie down beside Vi, but when you see her frown, you arch a brow at her.

“Hm?”

“Sweetheart,” she coos, “I’m not done with you.”

She pulls you into her lap, lets you straddle the toned muscle of her pelvis. And after you’ve ground your pussy against her until you’re shaking with another release, she’s still not done. It’s a long night.

At the table in the corner of your bedroom, your deck of tarot cards lies spread face-down. There’s one card upright, though: two of cups.

[dreamtofus]

ok

we all know the photo

[dreamtofus]

Reblog daily for health and prosperity

[dreamtofus]

musk is going to die in a Tesla explosion in 6 months after sticking his nose where it doesn't belong and we will never get a conclusive answer on whether it was a CIA car bomb or just a normal Tesla malfunction

[dreamtofus]

if u reread that last sentence, its directed towards bethyl shippers :-)

going on another bethyl rant bc I just hate the fucking ship and the people that ship it so much. (if you ship this slit your wrists and hang yourself you’re a retarded fucking faggot thanks xx)

anyways the ship is so very fucked up. Beth was 16 or so when they met, daryl was in his forties or fifties. which is pedophilia. “but she was 18 when she died it’s legal!” and? FRESHLY 18. that mindset is so fucked up. she was practically still a little girl, not a woman, and as stated daryl was still in his 40’s or 50’s. that’s borderline pedophilia and an insanely creepy age gap !! that’s literally just headcanoning daryl as a creep, (which I promise he is not and if he wasn’t fictional and he knew you he would actually bust a cap in your ass without second guessing it, in general he would never like you, sorry not sorry) he would find that age gap really fucking weird and wouldn’t associate with anybody who did that shit. did you actually watch the show, retard?

“but they had so much chemistry! when he carried her bridal style!” her leg was hurt. what did you expect him to do? make her walk with a limp? her to hop on one foot? come on, I know it’s hard for you but use your last two braincells now. he would’ve done that with any other young person who was injured.

he saw her as a little sister and I won’t take any other claims. “nobody looks at their sister like that, nobody does that with their sister” just say you don’t have a loving family. (I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t) the shit they do is something me and my brothers do all the time. the heart to heart conversations? drinking together? comforting eachother when we’re crying? my brothers carry me a lot, it’s completely normal for families to do together but of course you know nothing about that. he wanted to care for her like an older brother cares for his little sister, with how he’s so overprotective of her, was there for her first drink. I can confirm that because me and my brothers have the same connection that beth and daryl do, it’s very sibling like. that’s all their relationship ever was, brother and sister. if you think anything else you have an extremely perverted mind. it’s even worse if you’re an adult and ship this. at that point you just need to be put on the registry list, you absolute fucking troglodyte.

[dreamtofus]

OH MY GOSHHHH CRYBABY READER AND CAITLYN 😵‍💫😵‍💫 can we have something like caitlyn fucking crybaby reader with her strap and she is soooo mean about it ☹️ like our makeup is running and she's being so condensing UGH I NEED HER BADDDD

♱ lesson learnt. ♱

lil drabble bc i’m lazy! + (a oneshot that may or may not involve ellie williams is in the works though…)

syp. mean mommy!cait fucking you with her strap after you got smart in front of her colleagues at a fancy event.

cw: nsfw content!!, strap-on sex, mommy kink, she slaps you once, choking, degradation/mocking, rough sex, vulgar language/cursing (obv), she's real mean!!

at this point in time, you were unsure what you had said or done to make it to this point.

did you have too much wine? say or do something fucked up because of it? have a little too much attitude? arrogance? conviction? nerve…?

your vision went white simply thinking of reasons as to why or how?

‘where was i?’

‘when the hell did i get here?’

nevertheless, it’s a certain ‘who’ that snaps you out of your self-questioning turmoil with a striking *SLAP!!* across your tear-stained cheek.

“are you even listening to me, whore?” caitlyn spits at you with a venomous tone which is a daunting contrast to her usually sweet and caring voice.

she’s currently looking down at you from above—hands gripping the skin at the back of your thighs and legs planted firmly on the end of the bedspread. her hair is falling out of her neat ponytail and her eyes are dark. the darkest you’ve ever seen them. she has your legs resting on her strong shoulders with your hands bound together by a rope above your head.

the position you’re both in should be considered missionary on steroids because of the way you can feel her cock pressing against your cervix so magnificently yet, almost painfully. she’s pounding into you mercilessly, forcing you to take her cock for the way you acted towards her in public.

“you are so lucky i’m even fucking you right now. so lucky. do you have any idea how foolish you’ve been tonight? a disrespectful little slut, is what you are.”

as you look at her, eyes threatening to roll to the back of your head and tears streaming from your face, you can’t help but silently beg her, what for? who knows? her roughness sparks a string of desire that courses through your veins up to your brain.

“aww, poor girl. it’s so fucking deep, isn’t it? i bet you can feel it in your throat.” she’s taunting you. her dick thrusting inside of your cunt makes nasty, loud sloshy noises—makes your pussy drench the space below you.

“maybe that’s why you’re unable to speak.”

wrapping her hand around your throat, she squeezes harder the faster she moves in and out of you, “you love this. you love it, don’t you, darling? i can tell by the way you’re getting me all wet. so dirty.”

“ungh—f-fuck! y-yes, mommy!!” you respond to her for the first time in what seems like forever.

you feel the pure frustration seeping through her skin into yours, not just because of the sweat dripping from her brow onto your neck but because her stare sears daggers into you everywhere all at once.

“hmm. mommy can’t even punish you properly because you enjoy it. you enjoy being treated like a toy… solely for my usage. mine.”

the more she taunts and teases you, the more slick pools out of your puffy cunt—the more you tip closer to the edge.

“since you enjoy acting so heinously, you’re going to cum so much. so much, you’ll be begging me to stop, sweetheart. but i’m not going to.”

“not until you’ve learnt. your. fucking. lesson.”

…

AHHH!! i jumped 4 joy when i saw this rq thank u thank u!! 💋

(yes i used the british spelling for ‘learned’ on purpose.)

[dreamtofus]

arranged marriage with simon.

the marriage was arranged by your parents, you didnt even know it was going to happen until a few weeks before the wedding. your first meeting with simon was in a coffee shop. your mum just told you to go there at ten am to meet him there.

he stood out like a sore thumb. his hair was messy, a dirty blond but short, he was sat in a booth with a cup of tea in a to-go cup. a look of exhaustion on his face and a five oclock shadow of a beard. he had eyebags that were deep but his eyes were a soft blue. simon wore dark clothes, probably to keep himself looked at atleast as possible.

you took a breath of nerves before getting a coffee yourself before going over. you stood opposite him. “simon riley?” you asked him just to confirm really that he was infact your husband to be.

he just nodded “yeah i am.” he didnt bother asking for your name because well youre obviously his future wife he knows your name. “i didnt ask for this you to be my mrs, so dont blame me.” he tells you a in mutter. his voice was husky, a smoker and clearly a heavy one at that.

after that visit you didnt meet again until your wedding, you couldnt really class it as a wedding. you both went to county hall and signed the documents and you had your stuff moved in that night.

it was awkward, very awkward. that night the two of you stayed in silence. you both agreed to share a bed because thats what married people did. he was in a pair of joggers and a dark tank top. you were in your usual pyjamas. both of you as far away as possible in the bed. the tv was on playing the eleven oclock news. once the show finished you both said your good nights and that was it.

life went on like that for a few months, simple hellos and simple mutters of how are you. it was terrible. he was a good man at that, he allowed you to quit your job and the two of you lived on his income, you had unlimited cash and could do as you please. however the one thing you werent allowed to do was cheat. it was a basic thing you both agreed to early on as it wasnt fair on the other no matter how much you both disliked the marriage.

simon went on deployment, it was long three months without speaking (like that really bothered you). he returned late into the night, you were asleep in your bed, sleeping as snug as you could.

he kicked his boots off at the bottom of the bed and his clothes stripping to his boxers, as he climbed into bed, his arms wrapped around you quickly. waking you up. “simon?” you said quickly.

“shh birdie i need this.” he huffed, his head going into the crook of your neck, sniffing your hair which still smelt like that shampoo you used. you just being there settled him instantly. he fell asleep instantly too. you fell asleep too, the warmth of his arms was somewhat suprisingly nice too.

after that night you both had a silent agreement to sleep cuddling, even if some nights your head was on his chest or you both spooned. it was nice actually, being close to your husband.

the two of you eventually agreed on going on date nights, simple stuff twice a month even if it was getting a take out and watching a film and well it was perfect. settling into routines with him that you never thought would happen. being able to fall in love with your husband.

he thought of you as his salvation, your relationship bloomed into one of love and adoration to each other, spending early mornings and late nights together. simon wouldnt be the man he was without you, even if it was a rocky start it still happened. you still both fell in love and had the happy ending neither of you expected.

masterlist

[dreamtofus]

cw: angst, sex, best friend Simon using you after a break up, mentions of alcohol

Best friend Simon Riley showing up at your doorstep late at night. It had been raining, thundering even and you were just settling down to get to bed before hearing a knock.

You opened it quickly but also hesitantly due to how late it was and when you saw Simon stood there, clothes wet and eyes with tears threatening to spill. His cheeks slightly pink due to the cold weather, he must’ve rushed here quickly.

“Simon?” You asked quietly, but his lips quivered slightly his hand threading through his hair.

“She broke up with me, can I stay the night?” And all you did was open your arms, your own heart shattering for him. He’d been going out with this sweet girl for a while and as much as you hated it, you knew he loved her. The way he’d always call her, ‘just to check in’ when you’d hang out, the way he’d buy something from the store because it reminded him of her, he’d do anything for her.

She’d changed recently, been louder, more angry especially towards you. She disliked you and you knew that, hell so did Simon but he understood her reasons- something to do with a past relationship. Others had claimed she was bitter with you due to how similar you looked, you couldn’t see it though. You had the same body type and the same hair colour but other than that, you were nothing alike.

She had nothing to worry about, Simon loved her and you weren’t selfish enough to put your feelings for him first. She was just different recently and Simon knew something was up.

Your hand rubbed his back soothingly as he squeezed you in his arms. Needing something and someone to hold onto. He smelt of alcohol, he didn’t seem drunk but it was clear he’d been drinking. You pulled away from him shutting the door and faced back to him. His posture, his expression- he seemed a fucking mess.

You walked to the kitchen watching as he followed you, pouring him a glass of water but when too turned to face him he was cornering you to the counter, lips crashing on yours as he grabbed your face. The whiskey on his lips warning you to leave but his hold on you turned you to stone; the warmth making you stay.

“Please.” You knew what he was asking you for, you knew why and you should have declined. You wished you did but you didn’t.

Letting him have you on your bed, wincing as his body pinned you down, her name falling from his lips with cry’s. His whimpers echoing the walls while you waited with a blank face, waited for it to end. His eyes shut tight because he couldn’t stand looking into yours, she had a different eye colour. Tears were pouring from your eyes but you didn’t sob, your face didn’t crack from your dry expression.

You watched the blank, empty coloured ceiling move back and forth as he continued, finishing up and pulling out before falling asleep next to you. You’d let him do it because you loved him more than he knew. He’d wake tomorrow, apologies and move on because you’re both grown ups. This was just a one night stand, no feelings were involved because he didn’t have any for you.

Once his chest rose and fell, soft snores falling from his lips, you allowed your head to meet with your hands. Knees at your chin because you just wanted to go away, you were scared, cracked and crying. You didn’t sleep that night, you barely moved. You were a body to him, one he made his mind mistake for hers. You were a joke.

[dreamtofus]

Heavenly

young!daryl x fem!reader

implied abuse & references to a mommy kink

I wrote this forever ago but no longer intend on continuing it, so I thought I'd post it instead of letting it collect dust. ignore any mistakes <3

Daryl frequently came over to your trailer when things became rocky with his dad or brother—which was most days. You welcome him every time with open arms, grateful for his company despite his initial pricklyness.

At first he was guarded, wary like an abandoned kitten who'd been led astray too many times. He was hesitant to let anyone see the softer parts you knew were in there. Over time, his walls started to crumble when around you. There was a comfort in knowing he could show up unannounced and find you there, a constant in his unstable world. It didn't take him long to grow attached, though. Despite how much he thought he'd regret seeking comfort in you, it transformed into something he previously never let himself consider.

You're slightly older than him, but he admires mature and competent you are compared to the other people in his life. Even motherly at times. It stirs something in him he doesn't want to think about, he pushes it aside with the rest of those thoughts. You were undeniably the best parts of each other's day. Sometimes, he'd bring beer over, and you'd sit on your lawn chairs watching the sunset, and you'd discuss anything and everything.

“Just live with me, how many times do I have to say it? You know I hate the thought of you in there.” You shift your cardigan back onto your shoulder for the tenth time that night, watching the condensation from your beer soak into the ratty material of your couch. Daryl ignores you, as usual. The thought of relying on you so much irks him, you know that well by now. You sigh as he finishes another beer, your concern only growing, feeling like a swirling storm inside your gut. He was the only chance of stopping this abusive cycle the Dixon's had started, but he didn't see the worth in trying.

“Daryl.” Your voice is more stern this time, not giving him room to argue.

“What?” He responds a little too harshly, expression immediately turning guilty once he sees your raised eyebrows. He sighs and rests his head against his fist. It's hard not to pity him.

You uncurl yourself from where you're sitting and set your beer down. “Come here,” he looks hesitant, but eventually slides over until he's slotted against your side and wrapped in your arms. Your fingers curl around the hair on the base of his head, nails occasionally scratching in a way that has him practically purring. A kitten indeed.